


Chemical Reaction

by Nightfall24



Series: Entropy [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A lot of hospital visits, Altered Mental States, Angst, Breeding, Child Abuse, Claustrophobia, Collars, Coma, Dom Greg, Dom Mycroft, Dom Sherlock, Dom/sub, Drugged Sex, Dubious Ethics, Dubious Morality, Eventual Happy Ending, Forced Milking, Forced Pregnancy, Frightening images that might trigger, Guns, Homelessness, John's parents are doushebags, Leashes, M/M, Major character death - Freeform, Mental Breakdown, Non-Consensual Touching, Poor John, Rape/Non-con Elements, Sexual Slavery, Sub Jim, Sub John, Sub Molly, Tranquilizers, Underage Sex, Violence, because people always seem to get shot in my stories, implications of, sort of, surprise crossover in Epilogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-02
Updated: 2015-07-03
Packaged: 2018-02-23 19:51:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 21
Words: 96,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2553494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nightfall24/pseuds/Nightfall24
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part 3 of Entropy. With John's parents in the picture, he will be forced to rely on those he once loathed to aid him. Will Sherlock be able to get John back? What will happen with the crippled Sub Resistance? And many more questions will finally be answered! Woo hoo!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sweet Child of Mine

**Author's Note:**

> Hey everyone, welcome to part 3! 
> 
> Thanks to the amazing TPurr for editing this chapter for me. You rock! 
> 
> Enter Guns 'n' Roses chapter titles! Enjoy

Chapter 1 – Sweet Child of Mine

Everything seemed to slow down as those words escaped his lips. “Mom…Dad?” Pain from his leg traveled up to his heart, making his chest ache with memories. The man who gave John his blonde hair and the woman who gave him his short stature walked up to him with smiles on their faces. John froze in fear.

The entire crowd gasped at the revelation, using their cameras to capture the intimate moment. John took a step back as the flashes of lights blinded him. When he hit something solid, arms came around his chest, protecting him from what he knew was about to happen. _Please don’t let them take me._

“Quiet down, quiet down,” Greg shouted into the microphone, holding his hands up to calm the crowd. John noticed how the man stood between John and his parents, though he didn’t know if it was subconscious or on purpose.

“Johnny!” his mom called, making her way to the podium. “Oh Johnny!”

“Excuse me, madam,” Mycroft said, jumping into action. He walked past Greg and over to the woman. “I don’t believe this is the place, nor the time to-”

“To what?” she shouted, making sure the crowd could hear. “To get my baby back after you monsters kidnapped him for your…your science experiment.”

“I’m sure this is a misunderstanding,” Mycroft said, walking back to John, who was still in Sherlock’s embrace. “You see, I’ve purchased young John here about a month ago when our paths crossed.”

“That’s not right!” John’s father spoke up, wrapping his arm around his wife. He spoke to the audience more than he actually spoke to Mycroft. “We have a birth certificate and a right of ownership from when he first presented. John is our son and our Sub. All we want is for him to come home.”

John was so stunned he didn’t know what to say. A small part, the little six year old John, wanted to believe what his parents said was true. They did love him, they did want him back. But John knew, oh he knew exactly what kind of mind games his parents played. John didn’t know why they were just now showing up, but it couldn’t be good.

“I just want my son!” his mom cried into the crook of her husband’s neck.

Sherlock’s arm tightened minutely around John, as if he could sew the Sub’s body to himself. “Sherlock,” John whimpered, not fighting the protective hold he was under.

“Let me see this,” Greg said, reaching out to grab the two documents. He scanned them both, then looked up at Mycroft with sadness and a hint of fear in his eyes. “According to this, Hamish and June Watson are the legal guardians of John Hamish Watson.” Again, the captive audience gasped at the new information.

“They kidnapped that poor boy!” someone shouted.

“They should be brought up on charges!”

“Everyone, everyone,” Greg said into the mic, “we are going to have to cut this conference short. I’ll ask that you all give the Watsons their privacy.”

The people sighed and took a few more snapshots before leaving the area. When the last one was gone, Greg motioned for John to come. “John.”

The boy just shook his head, not wanting to get any closer than he had to to his parents. Bad things happened when Hamish and June Watson get involved. “John, honey,” his mom said, a sweet smile on her face. John had only seen that smile once when she talked him out of his room only to be jumped by his father and punished for not doing dishes like he was told. That smile was a lie.

“Get away from me you stupid, worthless, twat!” John shouted, his fear turning into rage. It was much easier to be afraid, but John was done with it. He could create his own bliss now, and there was nothing any of these Doms could do to hurt him.

“John Hamish!” his father shouted, taking a step towards John. Unexpectedly, Mycroft sidestepped and stood right in front of the man, towering over him. “Look, we’ve seen what you’ve done to our John. We’ve seen the newspapers with our boy on the front cover wearing a collar. Now that he can feel bliss again, I think it’s best he be with his parents.” Hamish stood up as tall as he could, puffing his chest out, and transmitting dominance.

“John, come here,” Greg snapped, looking at Sherlock this time. The tall Dom behind him slowly untangled his arms from around John’s torso. Keeping one eye on his mother and one on his father, John made his way over to Greg, his leg hurting until he used a small amount of bliss to take the edge off. _Hell, if I’m not Sherlock’s anymore, he can’t tell me not to use bliss._ Greg put an arm around John, holding him close. “These are your parents, yeah?”

John nodded, a scowl on his face. He knew where this was going, and it was best to start cutting himself off from this world of false hopes.

“When did you run away from home?”

“Why does that matter? You know they’re my parents, they have the proper paperwork, and now you’re going to let them take me. End of story,” John said, trying to pull away from Greg, but the strength of the man’s grip was something John hadn’t accounted for.

“John, it’s-”

“Your job. I know, now just stop acting like you actually care, Greg. It’s embarrassing.” John had to fight the lump building up in his throat. Turning back into the old John, the tough, angry teenager who never let anyone hurt him, was going to be harder than he thought. Honestly, John didn’t even want to think about it. If this was going to happen, just let it come and then work it out from there.

“John, if they hurt you, there are people who can help get you out of there.”

“Been there, done that,” John said, finally freeing himself from Greg’s grip. Greg was nice, but he had no fucking clue what it was like to be a Sub.

“My love,” June said, holding out her arms. As John limped to her, his head hung low, someone grabbed the collar of his shirt and yanked him back. John stumbled for a minute, his leg giving out enough that the man who pulled him caught him under the arm.

Mycroft held John’s neck tightly in one hand. “Look at me,” he snapped, his tone harsher than normal. “Do not do anything rash and do not use your bliss, do you understand me?”

John narrowed his eyes at the man who was no longer his Dom. _What do you care? You’re just letting them take me and you think you can order me around? Fucking arsehole._

“Whatever,” John said, petulance in his entire being. He looked the Dom right in the eye and yanked his head free, breaking whatever bond that was starting to form between the two.

Sherlock stood motionless behind his brother as John looked at him, before turning his head to leave. “He’s not going,” Sherlock said, stepping forward to stand next to Mycroft.

“Sherlock, there’s nothing we can do right now,” Greg told him, stepping in front of the man who looked like he was ready to pounce. He put emphasis on the ‘right now,’ but Sherlock heard none of it.

“That’s right,” Hamish said, “and we’ll get the authorities down here and have you lot charged with kidnapping and falsifying reports. John is ours. Now come along,” he motioned for John.

“I don’t care who you call. John will never belong to you,” Sherlock said, taking another step forward, only to be met by Greg’s hands.

“I’m not a piece of meat,” John growled and turned his back on Sherlock. On a scale of one to ten with ten being the worst thing he’s ever had to do, John would give this two hundred and fifty three, and that was being conservative. He could feel Sherlock’s presence behind him fading away until he was in his parents embrace.

Their hugs felt wrong, fake, and John wasn’t about to hug them back. “John,” Sherlock called, but the boy just couldn’t look back at what would never be his. It was too hard, and John, despite everything he had done, was weak.

“Let’s get you home, yeah,” his mom said, kissing his head. John got into the car first, letting his mother then his father come in after him. As soon as the door closed, an entirely different play took the stage. “Where’s your collar, boy?”

“It was removed,” John said, looking out the window. His mother grabbed his chin and looked him over. Having none of that, John struggled and pulled his head away. “Don’t touch me.”

“Ha! Still the same willful brat, I see. I think they’ll like that, don’t you Hame?” his mother asked.

“We’ll need to get the collar back on him if he’s going to sell for anything worthwhile,” he said, not even looking at John.

John’s eyes grew wide, and his heart stopped beating for a moment. They were going to sell him, just like they did when he was a kid. Luckily, he had been able to convince Harry to come with him before that happened, but now he was on his own. His parents, his own fucking parents, had just taken him away from his new life and were going to turn right around and sell him. _What a load of horse shit._

“He’s leaned up a bit too,” his mother said, talking as if John wasn’t sitting next to her. “That’ll be a good selling point.”

“Well, now that our boy’s famous, I don’t think we’ll have to do much in the way of work to get him sold off.”

John whimpered, closing his eyes. He wanted to give himself bliss, to take away the hurt and anger he was feeling right now. But he couldn’t, no; John Watson was a man of action. Using his brilliant teenage brain, John opened the car door and rolled out into the street.

It didn’t hurt as bad as he thought it would, honestly, especially when he filled himself with bliss. He rolled for a little bit, but luckily the car wasn’t moving that fast to begin with, so he stopped and stood up without much effort. The car had stopped and his father was coming towards him, when John gave the man the finger and ran the other direction. His left leg burned from the weight he was putting on it, so reluctantly, John gave himself more bliss.

John ran through the city, knowing exactly where he wanted to go to regroup. It took the whole day of walking through alley ways and ducking behind cars to avoid IBAD or the cops, but John made it to a tall building overlooking the Thames. It was freezing cold as the sun began to set, but the anger and adrenaline running through John’s veins warmed him just fine.

He climbed up the ladder, making his way to the roof to find Jim, Harry, and Mike’s tents were still there. John shivered as he picked up a cold blanket from Jim’s tent and two packs of chocolate pudding from Mike’s. He sat down against a concrete structure that housed the door leading down to the inside of the building.

John started to cry, holding his pudding in one hand and gripping his neck with the other. It wasn’t fair! He was finally happy for the first time in his short life and now his happiness just swirled down the drain, laughing at him as it disappeared. Sherlock and Mycroft, no matter how nice they acted towards him, only wanted some gullible Sub to use their collar on. Now that it had made the news, hell, they didn’t really care about him. It was all just a lie.

The only thing John could count on was the cold. He needed people though, people he could trust. John considered locating Harry and Mike, when there was the sound of the door knob being jiggled. He shot up, remembering to give himself a little more bliss to aid his leg. The door opened on the other side of the concrete. “John?”

It was Greg’s voice, John realized. _Damn it, damn it, damn it! How the fuck did he know I was here?_ He heard footsteps coming around the corner, so John tiptoed around the opposite side, hoping he could make it to the door and lock Greg up on the roof. “John, I know you’re up here. You’re not in trouble, yeah. I just want to talk.”

Anger raged in the boy’s gut. He knew Greg was lying to him. Of course he was in trouble, of course Greg didn’t just want to talk. The man wanted to take him in, and John would be damned if he let that happen. John hurried around the two corners of the structure, locating Greg’s back, and jumped on it with a loud growl.

His victory only lasted for a second, before Greg bent over and rolled his shoulder, slamming John onto the hard roof. “Damn it, John,” the Dom sighed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Why is it always the hard way with you, huh?”

John couldn’t breathe for a couple of seconds after his back hit. Panic filled him until finally oxygen came in to his lungs and he could tell Greg to go fuck himself. “Get away from me!” John spat, trying to sit up and swatting Greg’s hand away when he offered it to help.

“Knock it off,” Greg finally said, lifting John under the arms and leaning him up to rest against the wall. “Eat your pudding,” he laughed and tossed the cup to the teenager. John threw it back at him, getting even angrier when the man seemed unfazed by his little rebellion. “Listen, John, I know you’re angry.”

“Do you?” John sneered. To John, this man knew nothing when it came to what the Sub felt.

“Yeah, I do, and I get it. You should be pissed off, and hurt, and scared-”

“I’m not scared! I was doing just fine until you showed up,” John said, “speaking of which, how did you know where to find me? Did you have a tail on me?”

“No, nothing like that,” Greg grinned. “When we found out you jumped ship, Sherlock knew you would either go to the pipes or here. It took two men to subdue him when I told him he couldn’t go find you.”

John didn’t want to smile, but he couldn’t help the small amount of happiness it gave him that even when they were apart, Sherlock always knew where his Sub was. “I’m not going back,” John said, crossing his arms. If Greg tried to make him, he was going to have one heck of a time carrying a screaming sixteen year old down the stairs

“I know,” Greg said, sitting down next to John and putting his arms around his shoulder. “I know, but legally, right now, you have to.”

“Did you not hear me?! I said I’m not going back with those stupid arseholes. All they want to do is collar me and sell me to the highest bidder like I’m some sort of show dog or…or plaything!”

“That’s not going to happen,” Greg tried to reassure him, rubbing his arm.

“The hell it isn’t,” John said, jerking away from Greg in an attempt to break his hold. It didn’t work. “Did you see how Sherlock acted today? He might as well have had me gift wrapped for my parents. And Mycroft! Telling me to not do anything rash. Ha! Those two don’t have me fooled anymore, Greg, and neither do you.”

Although he said the words with spite, every syllable felt like another knife jabbing at his heart. When he saw Sherlock just standing there, letting him be taken it just…it just… _no, now’s not the time to think about that._

“You really have no clue, do you kid?” Greg asked, shaking his head and leaning it back on the wall. “Mycroft made a mistake, which seems inconceivable by looking at him, but he did, and now we’re all paying for it, not just you.” Greg stood up and brushed himself off. “If I know anything about the Holmes men, it’s that they do not share well with anyone the things that are theirs, and you John, are theirs.”

John wanted to get excited, wanted to believe, but he was too damn afraid that it was all just a ploy to get him to go live with his parents.

“Just give them a chance, John. Trust them, just this once, and I promise everything will be okay.” The Dom held out his hand for John to take, letting it hang there in the air while John mulled over his options.

“And if I say no?”

Greg sighed and pinched his lips together. “Then I would have to carry you, kicking and screaming, downstairs and give you no other choice but to trust them. Don’t make me do that, John,” he added.

John thought for a long while and in the end, he knew he would have to go back and deal with his parents. It would take a lot of courage, but he would stand up to them, even if Sherlock never came. But, God, did he hope he would!

John held out his hand and grasped Greg’s. “Thank you,” Greg said, smiling.

“I just didn’t want to have to hurt you, Greg. You wouldn’t be able to carry me down the stairs after I kicked your arse,” John said, giving the man a wry grin.

“Whatever you say,” he laughed and went to support John’s weight when his left leg gave out. “I’ll make sure you get proper medical supplies while you’re at their house, yeah.”

“Thanks, Greg, and umm…”

“What is it?”

“Tell Molly and Jim goodbye, you know, if I get sold and don’t see them again.”

“Shut up, I’m not telling them shit,” Greg said, whacking John on the back of the head.

“Oi!” he said, rubbing his head. As John climbed down the stairs and into the car, he thought about Sherlock; his hair, his eyes, his lips, his hands, his long toes, and his voice, oh that voice that whispered his name and called him a good boy. A single tear made its way down John’s cheek, but he refused to shed anymore. He missed Sherlock and he would try to trust that the man would come and get him. But John didn’t know if he was strong enough now to fight off his parents without his Doms.

John could try though; he would try, for Sherlock.    


	2. Welcome to the Jungle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Poor, poor John. John's parents are worse than he thought. Mycroft might not be such a bad guy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello again!
> 
> This chapter is pretty intense with violence and mature themes of implied sexual slavery, so buyer beware. Don't worry, this won't go on for too much longer :) 
> 
> Also, thanks to TPurr for the awesome editing. She helps keep me on track!

Chapter 2 – Welcome to the Jungle

**You know where you are, you're in the jungle baby**

**You're gonna die**

**In the jungle, welcome to the jungle**

**Watch it bring you to your kn-kn-knees, knees**

-          **Guns 'N Roses - Welcome To The Jungle Lyrics**

 

John sat in the back of Greg’s car, biting his nails and rubbing the hem of his shirt between his fingers. He didn’t want to go back to live with his parents. _If you can even call them that._ From what he remembered through his nightmares, they were cruel just for the sake of being cruel. Honestly, John couldn’t recall the final straw that made him take Harry and leave, but whatever it was, it must have been pretty bad to make a ten year old Sub run out into the dead of night.

He hated them, God did he! But he also feared them deep down in his soul. They were still his parents and his ‘rightful’ Doms, which meant, whether John liked it or not, they had power over his life. And now there was so much unknown! _What do they want with me?_

“John, you’re going to be okay,” Greg said from the front seat as they pulled into the driveway. “Here’s my number,” he handed John his card, “if you need anything, day or night, just call. I promise I’ll be there, okay?”

“Yeah,” was all John could say. There was no way his parents would let him get anywhere near a phone. John stepped outside into the cold night air, looking at the shabby old house that used to be his home. At that moment, John swore to himself that if things became too dire and there appeared to be no way out, he would make a run for it and this time Greg wouldn’t find him.

Greg got out and walked up next to him, grabbing his arm as if John was about to run away again. John tugged slightly, testing the hold, but Greg wasn’t letting go of him anytime soon. “Calm down,” he whispered, using his other hand to knock on the door. But John didn’t want to calm down. If he let his guard down while he was alone with these people, who knows what would happen.

When the door opened, they were met with a sight John had not expected. The rims around his mother’s eyes were bright red and his father looked worried sick. “Johnny!” June cried, rushing forward to wrap her arms around the boy. It felt strange to say the least. The problem was that secretly, this was all the Sub had ever wanted; to be loved by his parents, missed. But that was the painful game they played with him. _Fake love is worse than no love._

“We were worried about you, John,” Hamish said, slapping his son on the back. “Glad to see you’re okay.”

“Yeah, I bet you are,” John said sarcastically. Greg squeezed the Sub’s arm a little harder, then let go.

“Thank you for bringing him home, Detective,” his father said, ruffling John’s hair.

“John’s leg is burned. I’ll have someone stop by tomorrow with the proper supplies to take care of him. Have a good night,” Greg said, and like that, John was left alone with the two people who scared him more than Hell itself.

June let go of her son, as her husband ushered them both into the house and closed the door. The loud click of the lock being turned shifted something inside John. He went into defensive mode, hardening his outer shell to protect the soft insides Sherlock had left him with. In a way, he felt like a declawed cat, wandering around in the wilderness with large predators on his tail.

Hamish sighed and rubbed his hands through his hair. “You little shit,” he snarled, turning on John. “You always have to make things so difficult, don’t you? Why can’t you just be a normal Sub?”

“Don’t worry, Hame,” June said, walking into the living room and sitting down on the couch. “Once we get that collar back on him, he’ll sell. Plus, I’ve heard Mrs. Redgrave likes a little fight left in their Subs.”

“So that’s it?” John said, still standing by the door. He knew he could make it outside before his father reached him. “You’re just going to sell me off, then?”

“You got it, boy-o,” his father smiled; a fake smile that made John angry and queasy at the same time. “Now,” he said, sitting down in his recliner, “go get me a beer.”

The dominance his father possessed was pathetic, especially when John was used to dealing with Sherlock and Mycroft. The Holmes’ bliss was like a giant wool tarp being thrown over his head, while his father’s was more like a tissue being tossed in John’s general direction. 

John shook his head, smiling. _If this is the game they’re playing, I guess I can play along._ Walking over to the fridge, John opened the door and pulled out a bottle of ale. Popping the cap off, John handed it to his father.

“Get me one too while you’re at it, boy,” his mother said, turning on the telly.

John rolled his eyes, but walked back into the kitchen and pulled out another beer. As he walked back into the living room, he heard something that made his blood boil. “I forgot what it’s like to have one of ‘em around,” his father said, sipping his beer and focusing on the screen.

“Yeah, I wonder why that is?” John asked, handing his mother her beer. The spite in his voice was palpable, and John hoped even his thick parents would catch on.

Hamish sneered, narrowing his eyes at his son. “Because we have malfunctioning and disobedient Subs as children, that’s why! And you’d do well to mind your tongue, boy.” The way his father said ‘boy’ made the Sub’s skin crawl. His tolerance was growing thinner and thinner, his parents eating away at him like a disease.

“Or maybe it’s because your bliss isn’t good enough,” John said without thinking. Insulting a Dom’s bliss was the worst offence. Even Sherlock wasn’t immune to it, John remembered. Sherlock had given him the silent treatment when John said he didn’t want the man’s bliss. And now, he had just insulted one very large Dom.

Hamish couldn’t make John do anything, but the tank of a man could knock his block off. His father stood up, spilling his beer on the floor. “What did you say to me, boy?”

John looked around the house for an escape route, but there was none to be found. There were clothes and empty beer bottles strewn about, which John thought might make a nice weapon if need be. The teenager didn’t back down from the man, who, although shorter than Sherlock, was much broader and more muscular.

“Hame, leave him alone. You know the buyers don’t want damaged product,” his mother chimed in.

“Ha!” John laughed, because if he didn’t, tears would have started flowing and they might never stop. _Damaged product. Fucking arseholes._

“That’s right, boy, two days from now you’re going to have a new home and we’re gonna be millionaires.” Hamish took a step closer to John, bumping the Sub’s smaller chest with his.

“You really think someone’s going to pay a million pounds for a Sub with RDD? Wow, lay off the hard stuff, da.” John couldn’t imagine even Sherlock paying that much for him, let alone some stranger.

“Well, now that you had to go and get famous,” his mother said, a bright smile on her face. John knew it wasn’t for him though; well, at least not for his wellbeing. “You’re going to fetch a lovely price.”

“The rogue Sub who was broken. The boy who braved the flames,” his father said, smirking.

John swallowed hard, truly scared for the first time since he’d been in his parents’ house. Who knows what kind of people are looking for a Sub who has a track record like him? There was only one thing he could think of to save himself from being bought as some pet. Hell, he could deal with his parents; they were morons, but some rich bastard who probably had trainers… _hell fucking no_.

Making up his mind, and hoping it didn’t come back to bite him in the arse. John filled himself with bliss and punched Hamish in the solar plexus as hard as he could. The man grunted in pain, clutching his chest. Instead of running like he normally would, which would not help complete his plan, John stood his ground. _You don’t want damaged goods, huh?_ John kicked his father in the knee and clawed at his face until Hamish tackled him to the ground.

John wasn’t sure how many times his father punched him, or how many times he kicked him after Hamish stood up. Instead, John focused on Sherlock’s face, his hands, his chest and how warm it was being held next to the lithe body. John focused on what he knew was just a fairy tale, but it was the only peaceful thing in his life.

He could hear his mother screaming and his father cursing, and then finally, the beating stopped. John opened his eyes to see his father, chest heaving, above him. “Damn it, Hamish!” his mother said, hitting her husband. “Look at him. That’s going to take off at least a couple thousand.”

At this, John started laughing again. He didn’t know if it was from the bliss or the absurdity of the situation. His father had just beaten him to a bloody pulp, and his mother was worried about losing out on her gambling money. His father sighed and lifted his son up, holding him by the shoulders.

“You need to keep your fucking mouth shut,” he said, a scowl on his face. “If you talk back to any of those buyers tomorrow, I swear to God…” he let the threat hand in the air. “Go clean yourself up and go to bed. Use the middle bedroom. We turned your old room into storage.”

“And you’re lucky you’re even getting that after the way you behaved. Jesus, I thought that Holmes character said he taught you how to behave properly,” his mother added.

“Guess not,” John said, starting to feel the pain in his face and stomach as his bliss started to recede. With that, he walked down the hall and into the bathroom, slamming the door behind him. Hesitantly, he looked at his face in the mirror. “Holy shit,” he breathed, looking at the red circles around his right eye and his left jaw that would soon turn into bruises. His lip had busted in two places, and when he lifted up his shirt, John saw giant red marks the size of a shoe toe all over his stomach.

John hadn’t felt anything, but now, he groaned and doubled over with pain. Everything ached, even the hand that did the hitting, as he pulled off his clothes. “What were you thinking, John?” he asked in a mocking deep voice. “Well, I guess I was thinking I’d look less fuckable if my dad beat the shit out of me. You bloody idiot,” he said to himself, stepping into the shower.

As he washed himself off, going easy on his injuries and adding just enough bliss to take the edge off, he heard the door being unlocked. _Oh God._ He grabbed the bottle of shampoo and held it in his hand like a bat. The attack he was anticipating never came though. The door simply opened and then after a few seconds, closed.

John sighed in relief. He turned off the tap and stepped out, using a thin towel to dry himself off. That’s when he realized his clothes were missing. “You’ve got to be kidding me.” John hoped maybe his mum grabbed his clothes to wash for tomorrow, but he knew the chances of that were as slim as Sherlock.

Wrapping the towel around his waist, John made his way to his room, thankfully avoiding his parents. He closed the door and dropped down on the rickety bed, yelping as his muscles tensed and his bruises cried out. Curling up into the smallest ball he could make, he wrapped the blanket around his naked body.

The silence in the house called the demons to come out and play, bringing a few stray tears to fall down John’s cheek. The realization that he might never see Sherlock ever again hit him in one giant blow, hurting worse than any kick to the stomach or punch to the face. He never told Sherlock how much he cared for him and how much he loved his bliss. John had been so stubborn and, to be honest, afraid to let Sherlock in and help.

John let out a deep sob, muffling it with his pillow. No amount of his own bliss could stop the hurt and emptiness he felt. Why, oh why was he so fucking stupid? _And now it’s too late._ With tears still fresh on his cheeks, John fell asleep.

.oOo.

“Get up, John!” his mother shouted from the other side of the door. John shot up, immediately on edge in his new surroundings. “Come out here, your first appointment is almost here.”

“Where are my clothes?” John asked, looking down at his nakedness.

“They’re in the bathroom. Hurry up.”

John stood up, grabbing the towel and rewrapping it around himself. _Why couldn’t she just bring them in here?_ When John stepped out of his room, he found out why. Before he could react, a blue lead looped to make a choke collar fell around his neck and tightened. “No!” was all he could think to shout, but it was too late and no matter how hard he pulled on the thick material, it wouldn’t come off.

While his father held the lead, his mother made her way behind the Sub and latched his wrists with zip ties. “Get the fuck off me!” John shouted, struggling and fighting until he choked himself.

“Calm down, calm down,” his father said, but it did the exact opposite, making John turn and ram Hamish with his shoulder. “That is enough,” he shouted, grabbing John over the mouth, his fingers digging into his jaw bone.

“Let me go,” John growled, looking his father in the eye.

“We just want to make sure you don’t do anything stupid when our esteemed guests come in.” Hamish tugged on the leash, dragging John behind him. John hated the leash, even when Sherlock did it as gently as possible, and now, his father was dragging him around naked.

When they made it into the living room, a knock was heard at the door. “Oh, here they are. This is Mrs. Redgrave,” his mother said, practically skipping over to the door. She opened it to reveal a woman in her mid-thirties and an older man who had a collar around his neck. “Mrs. Redgrave, how are you?” his mother said, a wide smile on her face.

“Well, thank you,” she said, coming into the house, her Sub right behind her. “So this is the one from the papers?” Her long brown hair swung loosely, a few stray strands brushing in front of her face.

“Yes, yes, he is. John Watson, the boy who braved the flames,” June said, gesturing to her son.

“What happened to him?” Redgrave asked, eyeing him carefully.

“Well without his collar, our boy is a bit rambunctious and needs a lot of correction. But I assure you,” June said enthusiastically, “once he gets his collar, John is the most loyal Sub one can have.”

“I see,” she said, a toothy grin came to her face. “Below these bruises he is a pretty little thing.” Redgrave walked over to stand in front of John, who backed up a step to find his father right behind him. This woman was no good, John just knew it.

She held her hand out, then let it hover for a moment. “Is he a biter?”

“No, ma’am,” Hamish said, tugging slightly on the lead. “Are you, boy?”

John thought long and hard before he answered, and was actually pretty pleased with what he came up with. “What do you think?” He smiled, baring his teeth.

Surprisingly, the woman broke into laughter. “Oh I like him, don’t you William?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the old man said, keeping his head lowered.

Keeping her eyes locked with John’s, her hand continued moving forward, landing on his chest. John’s jaw was clenched so tightly, he thought his teeth might shatter. She used her nails to gently scratch down his chest, making the teenager shiver and become slightly aroused. “Stop,” John said, trying to lift his hand and shove her away, but the plastic binding his wrists said differently.

“Oh yes,” she purred, running a finger over his hardening nipple, “I like him very much.” She pulled her hand back, then scanned him with her eyes, taking in all John had to offer. “You’re getting him collared tomorrow?”

“We are,” Hamish said, “he’ll be ready to go, save for a bit of paper work and of course,” he cleared his throat, “our payment.”

“Of course,” she grinned at John. “Here is my offer,” she said, handing June an envelope. “I hope to hear from you soon.” With one last wink at John, Redgrave wrapped her finger under William’s collar and left the house.

“That was perfect!” June clapped her hands and turned to John. “You just keep this up and we’ll get the kind of money we deserve.”

“Hell, after running out on us, you better pay us back,” his father said, tugging on the leash enough to cut off John’s oxygen. John pulled against it for only a moment until he needed air, then sagged forward.

Before John could say some smart comment that would surly get his teeth kicked in, another knock at the door interrupted the scene. “Oh, that must be Mr. Addison. He’s a bit early,” June said, running to open the door.

An average looking man in his mid-forties stood in the door way. His suit and tie were pressed and his hair looked neatly combed, though a receding hairline was obvious. _Who is this guy?_ “Good day,” he said, nodding his head to June and Hamish, then fixed his eyes on John.

There was something cold in those dark blue eyes, something unlike anything John had ever seen, even with Mycroft. This man was not to be trifled with, John knew, but wasn’t sure if he could keep his mouth shut if the man said something stupid or tried to touch him.

“So this is John?” the man said curiously, stroking his chin and circling the Sub.

“Yep, this is him alright,” Hamish said.

“He’s quite a sturdy young chap,” Addison said, reaching out a hand and touching John on the back of the neck.

“Don’t you fucking touch me!” John growled, ducking away even though it choked him.

“You’ll have to forgive him, Sir, once he gets his collar on tomorrow he’ll be fine. A good stallion for you, yes?” His mother gave him a look that told him to behave, but John had seen much more threatening glares in his day.

“Oh that’s alright,” the man said, coming back to stand in front of John. “He just has a little lead reactivity, that’s all.” He reached out his hand faster than John could even see, and grasped John’s jaw. It hurt, especially when John tried to pull away, but it was scary more than anything. After all, he hadn’t even seen the man prepare to strike.

“Um, yeah, of course,” Hamish said agreeably, though it was obvious the Dom had no idea what his guest was talking about.

“When Subs are cornered, they have a fight or flight instinct, yes?” He used his other hand to pry John’s mouth open, looking at the teen’s teeth like the Sub was a dog. “And when they are on a collar, you take away the flight option, forcing them to bark as loud as they can to scare off an oncoming predator…like myself,” he said, letting go of John’s chin and letting his hand move down his torso.

John shivered, glaring daggers back at the man. He could do more than just bark! When Addison’s hand got to John’s belly button, the teenager twisted his hips and swung his good leg up in the air, aiming for the man’s side.

Without even breaking eye contact, the man caught his leg and held it up high, spreading John out and displaying his bits even better. “You see, one cannot blame a Sub for simply acting on instinct. It can, however, be trained out of them.”

John’s growls turned into whimpers when he couldn’t put his foot down. He had never felt as completely vulnerable as he did right now. Sure, he was naked when Sherlock dressed him and bathed him, but the Dom never once took advantage of John in that state. But this man, this…this arsehole, was treating John like some kind of animal.

Addison grabbed John’s testicles and rolled them around a few times, looking off as if he were pondering something. He then moved his hand to the Sub’s penis, looking at it for any deformities. John struggled and tried to kick more, but he was being held immobile with his hands behind his back, a lead around his neck, and his foot being held hostage.

“What the fuck is your problem!?” John hissed, arcing his hips back and away from the man’s touch.

“Hmm, he would make a fine breeder indeed; young, strong, and if the papers are true, loyal and trainable. Quite durable too if he’s still walking after a beating and those burns. I could definitely use this kind of celebrity for my business, as well.” He finally dropped John’s leg, then let go of the teen’s crotch. John took a step back, wishing he had hands to cover himself up.

It was so violating, to be touched by a stranger. John had never even had a boyfriend or girlfriend to kiss, let alone someone to touch. To be honest, it made him want to throw up and go hide in a corner until it was all over. He was naked, he was vulnerable, and he was alone.

“Here is my offer, Mr. and Mrs. Watson.” He, like the first woman, handed June an envelope. “I do hope to see John again once you have the collar on him.” Addison nodded to the family, then left without saying another word.        

 When the buyer was gone, June celebrated. “Yes! That one went even better and,” she opened the envelope, “oh my God. Look!” She showed Hamish the paper.

“Good boy!” he praised, though John ducked away when the man tried to pet him.

“How much?” John asked, curious to how much his sperm was worth.

“That’s none of your business, boy. Now straighten up, we have one more guest to see,” June said, shoving the paper in her pocket. “This one appears to be anonymous though, hmm.”

When the third knock on the door came, June opened the door to reveal the last person John though he’d ever see. _Mycroft?_

“You?” June asked, disgusted. “Our paper work is legitimate, Mr. Holmes, so I suggest you leave before we call the cops.”

“I’m not here to discuss the past, Mrs. Watson. I am here as a buyer,” he said walking past June. He eyed John for a moment, examining him as his face turned into a dark cloud. John could have sworn he heard a slight growl.

June and Hamish looked at each other for a moment, but knowing what deep pockets the Holmeses possessed, they nodded.

“I’ve also brought some medical supplies for John’s leg.” He held up a plastic bag, which was snatched by June.

“We’re taking care of him,” she defended.

“I can see that,” Mycroft said, restrained anger in his voice. “If it would be alright with you, I’d like to examine John on my own. I’d prefer not to have sellers input while I conduct my examination.”

“No fucking way!” Hamish said, “So you can steal him again?”

“I’m afraid that was a mere miscommunication. I have two IBAD officers outside to ensure John is not going anywhere. I just have a few questions for him that I believe he would not answer truthfully with you two in the room.”

There was a staring match for a good minute before the two lesser Doms finally gave in to Mycroft. Hamish dropped the end of the lead and followed his wife out, mumbling as they did so.

“John,” Mycroft said, pain in his voice. The older man rushed forward and grasped John’s face gently, but firmly enough to keep the teen from pulling away. John arched his neck back to get away from the inspecting fingers, but without his hands, he was no match for Mycroft’s hold. “You tell me this instant, what did they do to you?”

“I’m fine, I’m fine,” John tried to reassure the Dom, but he had to admit, it warmed his belly a little bit to have someone worry about him, especially after all the shit he just went through.

“You most certainly are not fine,” Mycroft said as he thumbed the bruise on John’s jaw, earning a hiss from the boy. “Tell me, John,” the command came, bliss filling his bones, “tell me what happened.”

“I just…” he said, compelled to tell the man. “I egged him on. It was my fault,” John hung his head and shuffled his feet. It was stupid what he had done, and it seemed to do the complete opposite of what he planned. And now Mycroft was angry at him and he couldn’t imagine how pissed Sherlock would be. _Wait, where is Sherlock?_

“No, John.” Mycroft placed his hands on either side of John’s face. “This was not your fault, do you understand me?”

John nodded, but didn’t believe it, as he had pushed his father past the breaking point. “I thought…well, I thought if he beat me up I’d…”

“You’d what, John?”

“No one wants damaged goods,” he said quickly, before his throat could close up. That’s exactly what he was now, wasn’t it? Damaged fucking product that was only good for breeding to make little baby Subs who didn’t have a chance in this stupid world. He was nothing now, nothing without a kind Dom to accept him, protect him…love him. John was nothing without Sherlock.

“Oh, John,” Mycroft sighed. It was awkward at first, but when Mycroft put his arms around the Sub, holding him close and rubbing his hand soothingly up and down John’s back, the Sub broke down and began to cry. “You’re not damaged goods,” he whispered, stroking John’s hair.

John pressed his face into Mycroft’s suit-covered chest, unable to stop the tears and sobs coming from inside. It didn’t matter that he was naked. It didn’t matter that his hands were locked behind him. It didn’t matter because he trusted that his Dom would take care of him in that moment. “Then why didn’t Sherlock come?” he sobbed, angry and hurt that the man didn’t even want to see him.

“Because I knew if he saw something like this,” Mycroft tapped the bruises on John’s stomach, “I would not be able to stop him before he did something very stupid. He wanted to, though. I had to call Greg to stay with him when he refused to get out of the car and into the house.”

In spite of his tears, John couldn’t help the bark of a laugh that came from deep in his gut. He could just picture the dramatic detective pouting in the back seat and Greg having to haul him back into the house. No matter how dysfunctional the Holmeses were or if they punished him, John loved being with them and most importantly, felt safe. _I mean seriously, to hug some guy in a suit while you’re naked takes a whole boat load of trust._

“Please don’t let those people buy me,” John whimpered, letting Mycroft hold him for a little while longer.

Mycroft gripped his shoulders and held John out at arm’s length. “I will never let them take you from us, John.” And for the first time in the house of his youth, John didn’t feel afraid.  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I found out that my new dog has leash re-activity. Sorry John for letting my dogs life mirror yours.


	3. Yesterdays

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's in trouble. Will Sherlock get there in time to save him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all!
> 
> This chapter, like the last, is a bit intense, but nothing too serious. 
> 
> Big thanks to TPurr for editing this chapter. I change a few things after her read through, so all mistakes are mine. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 3 – Yesterdays

“Oi! Get your hands off him,” Hamish shouted when he and his wife walked back in to the room.

With one tight squeeze and a surprising kiss to the top of the head, Mycroft let go of John. Immediately, coldness flooded his body, and even his soul, at the loss of the warmth of one of his Doms. “Right, here is my offer, Mr. Watson,” Mycroft said, handing the man an envelope. “I’ll see you soon, John.”

John watched with a broken heart as the door shut behind the man, once again leaving him alone with his parents. His nakedness and vulnerable state felt more obvious now that Mycroft was gone. It didn’t make sense, but John could feel it in his bones when the Holmes men were near.

“Would you look at that,” Hamish said, looking at the number Mycroft put down to bid on John.

“What?” John asked. He had to know, did Mycroft bid enough or was that the last time John would ever see the Dom.

“You’ll find out tomorrow,” his mother said, a wide smile that held no kindness at all on her face. “Go make us lunch, boy,” she said, her command attached to the most pathetic bliss John had ever felt. He didn’t, however, want to be beaten to a bloody pulp again, so he let June cut off his zip ties and went into the kitchen to whip up some sandwiches.

He set the table for three, then called for his parents to come and eat. When Hamish entered the kitchen, he began to laugh. John knitted his brow, but sat down and picked up his sandwich. “Ah, ah, ah, boy,” Hamish wagged a finger at him. “Subs don’t eat at the table with their Doms.” The sandwich was yanked out of John’s hand and thrown into the corner, the turkey and cheese flying in opposite directions.

John glared at his father and stood up, sticking his chest out and raising his chin. “You will never be my Dom.” And he meant it. John would rather be beaten to death than have to live here with a couple of wanna-be Doms.

“You little-” Hamish grabbed the back of John’s neck, pressing on the healing wounds from his collar, and threw him into the corner. John’s hands slapped the tile, while his back thudded against the green wall. A shadow surrounded him as he turned around to see his father looming over him.

Using his superior strength, which was all Hamish Watson had, he held John down while the boy kicked and punched, until the Sub’s hands were zip tied behind his back again. “You fucking bastard!” John shouted, squirming around on the ground as if he could break the hard plastic with his struggling.

“You should be more grateful,” Hamish said, righting himself. “At least we’re feeding you before your new owner comes to get you.”

John just growled, practically baring his teeth at the man. John had made so much progress after meeting Sherlock. He went from a feral youth stealing whatever he needed to survive, to a teenager who actually trusted a Dom with his life. But now, now John was ready to bite his father’s hand if it came near his face. John felt like he could never let anyone in again after having Sherlock ripped from him so brutally. John was regressing, and there was nothing the Sub could do to stop it.

Hamish and June sat down at the table and began eating their sandwiches. They talked about all the things they were going to spend their new found money on. Mostly it was gambling, possibly taking a trip to the States to visit Las Vegas. Hamish wanted a bigger television, while June wanted a new BMW. All in all, it was what John expected…boring.

“Eat!” Hamish snapped at him. John only looked at him, until the man stood up with anger in his eyes. Not wanting to die just yet, John got up on his knees and bent down to take a bite of the bread. It was the most degrading thing John had ever done, and to top it all off, he was naked! The food felt like sludge going down his throat, making the teenager want to throw it back up. _I miss Sherlock feeding me._

Eventually, John ate the whole thing, trying his best to picture Sherlock hand feeding him glazed pork with apples. He couldn’t stop his lip from trembling as he stood up, his head hung low. “So, you bought me to make money, right?” John asked as they walked into the living room.

“You’re a smart one,” his mother mocked.

“That means you’re not going to buy Harry, right?” John hoped beyond hope that his parents wouldn’t try the same thing with his sister. She was tough, but when it came to their parents, she was much weaker. She let things get to her, while John was protected by the hard shell he put on. _Well, at least the hard shell I used to have._

“Why would we buy her?” _Thank God._

“I always told your father, if two Doms somehow produced two Subs, why couldn’t they at least behave correctly?”

“I think it was because your mother dropped you on your head when you were babies,” Hamish said, plopping down in his recliner with a cold beer in his hand.

“I’m sure you were a wonderful mother,” John said, an impish grin plastered on his bruised face.

“Shut it boy, the show’s coming on,” June snapped, throwing a tissue box at his head. John dodged it and sat down on the carpet. Sadly, he was getting used to being naked, even as his junk touched the floor, sending a shiver up his spine from the strange texture.

That was how their day went. John fetching beers while his parents watched the telly, and preparing a chicken dish that he considered undercooking, but didn’t have the guts. When it was time for bed, John didn’t take a shower, even though he had no clothes to lose. After Hamish cut off his zip ties, John just wanted to go to bed so he could be bought by Mycroft.

As he lay in bed though, his mind began to turn on itself. _What if Mycroft isn’t the highest bidder? What if I have to go with that lady? Oh God, what if I have to go with that man?_ It took two hours, but John finally fell asleep, exhausted from the day.

.oOo.

John opened his eyes to see that the sun was just coming up, the rays casting a yellow and orange hue to his room. The rough knock on the door startled the Sub, making him jump up and adopt a fighting stance.

“Come make us breakfast!” his mother shouted through the door. John merely rolled his eyes, but followed the order. He slowly opened the door, wary of what happened the last time he exited his room. “Hurry up,” she called after him, turning the corner to enter the living room.

John followed her, a slight smile forming on his face that today was the last day he had to put up with his parents and their insistent _pathetic_ efforts to Dom him. As he turned the corner though, John stopped in his tracks.

Standing in the middle of the room was none other than Mr. Addison and two very large men. The man was checking something on his phone, but when John entered the room, he looked up and smiled at the Sub.

“No,” was all John could say. No, Addison shouldn’t be here. No, Mycroft was supposed to buy him. No, he didn’t want to go. No, just fucking no!

“Good morning John,” Addison said, putting his phone away in his front pocket. “When your parents texted me last night that I was the highest bidder, I just couldn’t wait to get started. I’ll be taking you to get your collar put on. I’ll give you a little time if you’d like to say goodbye to your parents.”

“No,” John said again, anger and the deepest kind of hatred filling his very being. Mycroft had told him! Told him he would buy him and now this man who wanted nothing more than John’s sperm was coming to collect him.

“Alright then,” the man reached into a bag he had brought, pulling out arm cuffs and a chest harness. “We can do this the easy way or-” before Addison could finish his sentence, John bolted back down the hallway and into his room where he knew there was a window he could escape through.

John slammed the door, his adrenaline making his heart race and his senses hyperaware. He threw open the window and climbed out just as the two big men burst into the room. John pushed the pane closed and turned around to a fist hitting his throat.

His trachea convulsed in his throat, not letting air get to his lungs. John let out a silent cry and collapsed to the frosty grass. For a moment, John thought he would never breathe or speak again. Fear flooded him as hands started putting his arms in between light brown leather.

“I was hoping we could have done this the easy way, John, I really did. But it appears your spirit has not been broken by the Holmeses,” Addison said as he shifted John this way and that. John was more concerned about his breathing though, and didn’t realize what had happened until he heard a loud ‘snap.’

John looked down at his chest to see three leather strands, one across his ribs and other just under his collar bone, while the third connected the two, creating a giant uppercase ‘I’. Two other strands ran up his sides to loop under his arm pits and over his shoulders, creating a chest harness made for dogs.

John growled at this, his voice coming out hoarse. He tried to rip the bloody things off when he realized his hands were connected to a belt at his waist, keeping his arms straight by his sides. _I’m trapped! I’m trapped and nobody’s going to save me!_ John kicked and struggled against the bonds until he wore himself out and his body began to shiver from the cold.

“I…I need to make a phone call,” John said quickly, the logical part of his brain kicking in. _Greg, I need to get Greg. He’ll fix this…right?_

Addison smiled at the teenager like he had just said something adorable. The two men finally showed up, walking around the corner of the house and stomping up to them. They reached down to pick John up, being careful not to get their hands too close to the boy’s mouth, as he was gnashing his teeth and threatening with the only weapon he was left with.

“No, just get me my trousers. They have a number in them that I need to call!” John started to panic as one man grabbed his legs and the other grabbed under his arms, carrying him towards the car. “This isn’t right! Mycroft’s supposed to buy me. Mycroft! Sherlock!” John shouted with all his might. It had to be some kind of mistake, it just had to be! His Doms wouldn’t leave him with this maniac… _would they?_    

“It appears they were done with you, John,” Addison said, getting into the car. He motioned for them to put John in, causing the Sub to be thrown on to the leather seats. “Now you’re mine, and it’s time you started learning that.”

John repositioned himself, bending his arms at an awkward angle to account for the cuffs. The car door slammed behind him and soon they were moving. “Please, you don’t understand. This isn’t supposed to happen,” John said, pleading with the man. There was only blackness behind those eyes, though, leaving John with no leg to stand on.

“Once we get you collared, the estate is about fifty kilometers away. You will be fed twice a day, bathed once, milked three timed, your chores-”

“M-Milked,” John asked, terrified at what the man was insinuating.

“Yes, it’s a very simple process. You will lie on the operation table and, if you insist on being rambunctious, tied down. The Milkers will attach a long tube to your penis, which will then stimulate you until your ejaculate can be collected. Like I said, you will be in and out before you even know what happened.”

“You…you people are fucking sick!” John shouted, laying back to kick the man. This was not the life he was supposed to live. John would rather be out on the streets begging for money than be some…some bull!

Without thinking, John exposed his underside to Addison by kicking at the man. The Dom reached out and grabbed his balls, not squeezing, but keeping them firmly in his hand.

“D-Don’t,” John stuttered, stilling his movements almost instantly. _Damn it John, you have to think before you act._

“I wouldn’t want to harm your precious seed. After all,” Addison said, rubbing the soft flesh in his hand, pulling at John’s pubic hair, “this is why I bought you. Don’t kick me again,” the order came, though only a small amount of bliss attempted to sway John. He didn’t know if that was the man’s full strength or he was just testing the waters to see how easy John was.

It wasn’t the bliss that made John nod his head; it was the fact that the man had him by the short hairs, literally. “I won’t,” John said as his testicles were released and he was able to sit up.

“We’re here,” Addison said when the car stopped. He held out a lead and attached it to the back of the harness.

“Please,” John pleaded one more time. If they put that collar on him, he was completely screwed. He wouldn’t be able to refuse one order from this man, and who knew what kind of games he wanted to play. Addison didn’t seem to have trouble touching John inappropriately, so who the fuck knows?

“It won’t be so bad, you’ll see,” Addison said, stepping out of the car and tugging John out. It was impossible to fight when tight straps pulled and pushed on his upper body. John tried anyway. He jerked on the lead, tried sprinting away from the man; he even turned around and tried to bite through the leather.

“Please…please, let me just make one phone call, please,” John begged the man as he was forcibly dragged into the hospital unit of the IBAD center.

“It’s alright, shhh,” Addison reached out to stroke a hand through John’s hair, but the teenager snapped at him, feeling like a caged wild animal.

“Mr. Addison, you called ahead, yes? We have a room ready for you,” the man at the front desk said, smiling pleasantly at John as if the Sub wasn’t being restrained against his will.

“Thank you. I think we’ll need to carry him the rest of the way,” he said, motioning for his two guards to take hold of the struggling figure.

“NO! Please, don’t do this!” John’s screams echoed down the hall, as he was carried into a clean looking operating room.

“His blood pressure is too high,” the doctor said through the white mask on his face.

“I’m fine if you’d like to sedate him for the procedure,” Addison said. “This is for the best, I promise.” The Dom left the room, texting something into his phone.

“Here, the table has magnetic wrist and ankle restraints,” the doctor motioned to the white cushioned table in the middle of the room. The two men easily carried John over, holding him down as they undid his leather cuffs and put his limbs in cold metal ones.

“Thank you,” he said to the large men, shooing them away.

“Doctor, please, you have to listen to me. It isn’t supposed to be like this. I’m Mycroft Holmes’ Sub, not Addison’s,” John tried to convince the man, even though his face was lying on a pillow.

“Alright, son, alright,” he patted John’s back kindly, “you’re not going to feel a thing, I promise. No need to fret.”

“NO! NO!” John screamed, struggling as hard as he could in the bonds. This was it, he was going to be collared and become some mindless robot that didn’t get a say in anything anymore. Sherlock was gone. Mycroft was gone. His life…was gone. “NO!”

John could feel the needle right next to his arm, ready to be pushed in and sedate him while they did the procedure. He waited and waited for it to puncture his skin, the anticipation worse than the actual act. But, the needle never came.

“Are you sure?” the doctor asked someone John couldn’t see. _Is he on his fucking phone while he’s about to stick a collar around my neck? Bastard._ “Alright,” John heard a beep and then a click.

John felt his limbs being released and it was the best thing he had ever felt… _aside from being fed by Sherlock._ But he knew he wasn’t out of this hole yet. Perhaps Addison decided he wanted to hold him down while they collared him. So John lay very still, waiting for his chance to attack.

Someone, no two people, entered the room quietly. John could feel them approach and he steeled himself, ready to pounce. He was getting a second chance, and this time he wouldn’t fail to escape Addison. When John saw a shiny black shoe under him, he struck.

John lifted himself out of the bed, and in one motion brought his fist back and swung as hard as he could, his eyes closed tightly, waiting for impact. The man caught his fist though, making John’s gut drop. He opened his eyes, and his heart exploded.

“Sherlock!” John cried, tackling the man who stood there, bracing himself. John’s knees were still on the bed, but his entire upper body was in contact with the man he thought had abandoned him. John held on as tight as possible, making sure Sherlock was real. If Sherlock was here, was real, then everything would be okay. His Dom always took care of him. John realized that now.

“Shh, shh, John, it’s alright, you’re alright,” Sherlock whispered into his ear, as he stroked the Subs naked back up and down. “I’m here.”

Then, John started to sob. _You’ve been doing that a lot lately. You’re getting weak John Watson._ He dug his fingers into Sherlock’s shirt and pressed his face into the man’s chest, crying and babbling senseless words. Vaguely, John felt something wrap around his waist, but he didn’t have the energy to look down and see what was happening. All he wanted to do was hug Sherlock, forever.

“Alright,” Sherlock said, prying the boy off of him so he could smile down at him. When Sherlock saw the bruises on John’s face, the man’s eyes darkened and his hands tightened on the Sub’s shoulders.

John shrank back a little at the threatening glare Sherlock gave looking at the boy’s stomach. Stepping in before his brother scared the young Sub, Mycroft tightened the sheet that he had looped around John’s waist, breaking the tense moment. “Mycroft,” John said, looking up at the man.

There was still that confident expression, or confident mask rather, on his face. John wondered if this was part of Mycroft’s master plan or if the man had made a mistake. Either way, John didn’t feel like over analyzing the Holmes’ actions right now, so he just gave a small nod to the man in thanks.

“Let’s get this off of you, shall we,” Mycroft said, reaching for John’s torso. John jerked away, but was stilled by Sherlock hushing him and running a hand over his nape. Mycroft unclipped something on the back of the harness and pulled it forward. John slipped his arms through and looked down at the resulting red lines on his chest. Sherlock slowly reached out and ran his fingers over a particularly deep indentation.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft warned when the younger man clenched his fists. “John is back in our hands now. He’s alright.”

Although John wanted Addison beat up after what he did to him, he would never treat Sherlock as a means for revenge, especially when he knew his Dom might actually kill the man. “I’m fine, Sherlock. I just… how did you find me? My dad said Addison bid the most.”

“That’s not important right now, John,” Mycroft said softly, weighing the harness in his hand, a scowl on his face.

“But…you did it completely this time, right?” John asked, not realizing that he just insulted Mycroft. John immediately shrank back, afraid of what his punishment was going to be.

Instead of getting angry though, the eldest Dom simply smiled, dropping the leather on the bed. “Yes, John. You are officially ours, whether you like it or not,” he said with a smile.

If John wasn’t so exhausted from being on full alert constantly, he would have jumped up and hugged the man, a wide grin on his face. He just settled for nodding his head and leaning into Sherlock’s touch. As much as he wanted to relax, after all, he had both his Doms in the same room to protect him from any problems, but there was something gnawing at his defenses, keeping them upright to protect John from even the smallest of attacks.

“John,” Sherlock caressed the boy’s face, forcing him to turn and look at the curly haired Dom. “It’s alright, you’re alright now, and we are going home.”

“Home?” John asked, the word sounding foreign on his tongue. He never thought he’d go back to Baker Street, let alone 221B. Warmth akin to a cup of tea spread through John, pushing the panic and hatred down deep inside him, away from the light. He could feel them already start to fester, but he was going home, he told himself, and everything would be okay.

“Yes, come, let’s put some clothes on you, then we can head back to Baker Street,” Sherlock said, reaching for some blue scrubs.

It was slow getting John dressed and into the car, especially when they saw Addison in the hallway, texting on his phone. The man looked up and smiled at John, waving to him like he didn’t just have John tied to a fucking bed. John saw red instead of a man sitting there, and leapt for him, ready to strangle the life out of the man who wanted to use him like cattle. “John!” Sherlock shouted, grabbing the Sub around the waist before he could make contact with Addison.

"You should keep your dog on a tighter lead," Addison said, smirking, then going back to his phone. 

John struggled in the hold, forcing Sherlock to lift him up and carry him out the door. “You fucking bastard!” John kept shouting, even after they turned the corner. Growls kept coming from his throat, though John didn’t know he had that much anger deep inside him.

“Shh, calm down. He’s gone, he’s gone,” Sherlock kept telling him, but John didn’t care. When he kneed Sherlock in the head, Mycroft finally took control of the situation. The eldest Holmes put his hand on John’s neck and released a shockwave of bliss that the Sub was unable to fight off.

“That’s it,” Mycroft whispered, looking at John’s dilated pupils as he hung loosely in Sherlock’s arms.

“Sherlock?” John mumbled. He felt better, so much better now that he was consumed in a blue hazy mist in Sherlock’s arms. It was like he was rolled down a hill, the elevation change making him light headed.

“I’m here, John. I’ve got you,” the Dom said, his voice like a low burning flame in the haze Mycroft put him in.  

When they finally got into the car, John was placed in his familiar position of laying his head on Sherlock’s lap and placing his feet on Mycroft’s. “You’re safe, John,” Mycroft said, squeezing his leg and pushing out a bit more bliss. “Go to sleep.” And like that, John fell into the darkness, where even Sherlock couldn’t protect him from his nightmares.

“You know what needs to be done when we get home, yes? No coddling him, Sherlock.” Mycroft motioned for the driver to leave and settled in his seat, cradling his previously injured arm.

“It’s too soon, Mycroft, it’s still too raw,” Sherlock said, petting through the boy’s hair.

“He’s going to break down eventually. No teenage boy can go through what he did and not hold onto the anger he created to protect himself.”

“Of course not, but we need to give him time. I might be able to work it out of him gently.”

“John is a physical force…or at least he thinks he is. Talking won’t make his new demons go away,” Mycroft said, rubbing a calm hand up and down John’s calf. “Just be careful brother, it might have only been a few days, but our Sub is a very different person. He has regressed much, and might be back to where he was when we found him; a scared boy who will lash out at any hand that comes near, whether they mean him well or not.”

“He’s still the same John, and I will work through this PTSD with him. John will still be able to help us with the Resistance. He has to.”

“I hope you’re right, brother, I hope you’re right.”   



	4. Patience

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John is not okay. Sherlock deals with some trash. Greg won't put up with Sherlock's bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> This chapter has a bit of violence in it, but nothing too descriptive. 
> 
> Thanks to TPurr for editing and reminding me that Brits call their cookies biscuits. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 4 – Patience

“I can walk, Sherlock,” John grumbled, as he huddled deeper into Sherlock’s arms. Most of the bliss Mycroft had given him had worn off, and the cold from the winter air felt frigid on his sweat soaked skin. Although he gave a token struggle against his Dom’s arms, John felt as if he was warmed butter.

“Do I look like I care?” Sherlock asked, his tone a little bit harsher than John would have expected. John could tell the man was upset, whether at John, his parents, or Addison, the Sub didn’t know. He hoped it wasn’t him obviously, but he had a strange feeling that he was the object of Sherlock’s anger.

John was carried up the steps of 221B and brought inside to a warm living room that smelled faintly of… _formaldehyde? and…is that chocolate biscuits?_ John scanned the room and yes, he saw a platter of chocolate chip biscuits sitting on the table next to a tray of what looked like a dissected hand. John couldn’t help the bark of a laugh that escaped his throat. This was home.

At that thought, John caught himself. A month ago his home wasn’t with the Holmes brothers. A month ago it was a prison that John tried to escape from. A month ago he didn’t melt at being held by Sherlock. John tried to stab him in the foot, kick him in the bollocks, bite their fingers clean off. John had changed.

After seeing what it was like with those other Doms and what it was like out on the street, John was forced to choose the least of the three evils. John had caved. John had given in. John was helpless without his Doms. John had been…domesticated.

“John, are you alright?” Mycroft asked, turning around and pressing the back of his hand to John’s forehead. John jerked back on instinct, his nerves still raw.

“I’m fine,” John said, wiggling harder now in Sherlock’s hold. “Put me down. I want to go take a shower.” _I need to think. I need to figure out what I’m supposed to do._

“Alright,” Sherlock said, passing a worried glance to his brother before easing John to the floor. “Make sure and keep your burns away from the pressured water, only dab it with soap and water. Do you want me to do it for you?”

_yes, please._ “No, I can do it.” John gulped down the words he wanted to say. He put more weight on his bad leg, the pain helping to clear his head.

“Okay, then I’ll wait for you to finish and then dress your leg,” Sherlock said, leaving the room and giving John no time to argue.

John huffed in annoyance, receiving an amused smile from Mycroft. “He just wants to make sure you’re okay.”

“Yeah, I know,” John mumbled, kicking the ground with his good foot. Why did he feel guilty for snapping at Sherlock? _He kidnapped me! Or did you forget that part, John Watson?_

“Go shower. Call if you need help,” Mycroft told him, then left John standing alone in the living room.

John made his way to the bathroom, his limp small, but still there. There was always a dull ache in his leg now, and when he forgot to produce his own bliss it made his eyes tear up a little bit. It was a small price to pay, his mind told him. He had saved Sherlock, _my captor_ , his friend, _a fucking Dom_ , his Dom, when he got burned.

Sighing as his head throbbed from over-thinking, John closed the door and turned on the tap. He undressed slowly, looking at the bruises on his body. Pressing on a few to prove they were real, John went to take his pants off. He sat down on the toilet and began unwrapping the old soaked gauze on his leg.

It was the first time he’d actually seen the wounds on his leg. John cringed at the healing flesh. It was still bright red, but it seemed all the blisters had gone down, leaving scabs and dead flesh about mid-calf to his ankle. “Well would you look at that,” John said, rubbing his knee convulsively.

To John it wasn’t just a burn; no, it was proof that he was someone’s Sub now. John had given his flesh to save the man who took him off the streets and put a collar on him. His body was Sherlock’s, his mind had cracked, ready for Sherlock to hop on in, and now all that was left was his soul. Once Sherlock captured that, John would be…well, he didn’t really know what he’d be.

John stepped into the shower, keeping his leg away from the stream as he washed himself down. There were still red indentations on his chest from the harness, bringing back a dread John had only felt once in his life. He used the flannel to scrub as hard as he could to get the mark off his breast bone.

When the mark only reddened from his rough rubbing, John let out a deep throaty sob. “Will you just stop it?!” John screamed at himself. He was so tired of crying, so tired of being weak, but the tears would not be stopped.

John didn’t know how long he cried, huddled in the corner of the shower, but apparently it was a while when a knock on the door startled him out of his own mind. “I’m fine!” John shouted. He realized how cold the water was now, signifying that yes, he had been in the shower for a good long while.

There was no answer, only the sound of scratching. John realized too late that that was the sound of Sherlock picking the lock. He could just imagine how pathetic he looked, curled up in the corner, cradling his bad leg and his bruised ribs. “I said I’m FINE!” John snapped at the man, who reached up and turned the tap off.

“I know, I know you are, John,” Sherlock said, squatting down in front of him. “But sitting there on the shower floor probably isn’t the best idea. Your body temperature has already dropped significantly,” he said, placing his hand on John’s good leg.

John did feel himself start to involuntarily shiver, and his leg hurt something awful. “Come on, let’s get you dried off.” Sherlock reached for him. John wanted to shy away, he really did, but he just didn’t have the strength. Large hands scooted under him, picking John up to sit on the lid of the toilet.

Sherlock grabbed a big towel and started dabbing at John, who sat in silence. The Sub’s face was bright red, as was his chest from overzealous scrubbing. A small whimper came out of John’s throat when the towel was pressed over his crotch. Sherlock kept a steady hand on John’s hip the entire time, keeping him from moving while he dried the Sub’s leg.

“Good boy,” Sherlock cooed, grabbing a pair of gray boxer-briefs and gently slipping them up to John’s hips. After he helped John fit into cotton black shorts and a white t-shirt, he then focused on the burns. “Do you want a little bliss?” Sherlock asked, actually asked John if he did or did not want something.

John stared at him for a moment, confused, then shook his head. “I can handle it,” John said, dead set on being tough from now on. _No more crying you stupid git._

“I know you can handle it,” Sherlock said, opening a plastic box with gauze, surgical tape, and ointment inside. “But you shouldn’t have to.”

“If I can’t handle a stupid burn without out your help, what good am I?” John snapped, hissing when Sherlock started applying the cream.

“Is that what all this is about?” Sherlock asked.

“What do you mean?”

“It’s not normal to find someone huddled and crying in the shower, John. I haven’t been around many people, but I know that’s not normal behavior.” After Sherlock had applied a generous amount of ointment, he then started placing square gauze pieces along John’s calf.

John’s eyes grew wide as his anger boiled over the rim and spilled onto the floor. How dare Sherlock judge him! The stupid Dom had no idea what it was like to be treated like a piece of property. Sherlock had never wanted for anything in his entire life, let alone had to worry about when he was going to get his next meal or if he was going to have a bed to sleep in. No, Sherlock didn’t understand; he might act like he did, but he was still just a Dom.

“Not. Normal. Behavior,” John said, clipping off each word. “Oh do tell, Sherlock, what is normal behavior for someone who was beaten to a bloody pulp by their father, made to eat off the floor, stripped naked, sold to a fucking perv by their parents, who, by the way, are supposed to love and cherish their children, had his bollocks played with by some maniac who only wants someone for how many blonde babies they can produce? Please, Sherlock, enlighten me!”

John was shaking uncontrollably now, his hands clenched into fists so tight that his fingers began to go numb. What made matters worse was that Sherlock just continued to wrap his leg with soft white cloth. _He doesn’t even care!_

“You don’t have to worry about anything like that again, I promise,” Sherlock said, caressing John’s leg, ensuring his wound was tightly concealed in a layer of white fibers.

“Yeah, I would have believed you a couple days ago. I guess the jokes on me, huh?” John stood up, pushing past the man who was crouched in front of him.

“Come, let’s take a short nap. I’m sure you are exhausted from today’s events.” Even though John wanted to do anything but sleep, he followed Sherlock to the bed and let the man tuck him in. Sherlock lay down facing him, looking into his eyes until John couldn’t hold his open any longer.

As soon as John closed his eyes, nightmares grabbed hold of his feet and dragged him down farther into sleep.

.oOo.

When John’s breathing had slowed down, Sherlock sat up and quietly walked out of the room. His anger was raging like he had never felt before. Something inside him was telling him to destroy all those who hurt his Sub, his John. There was nothing he could do for the boy now, or at least there was nothing he could think of to help him. The only thing he could do was make sure the Watson’s and Addison paid for what they had done.

He grabbed his black coat off the rack and was about to turn the handle to leave when a voice stopped him. “You know that’s not going to do John any good, Sherlock,” Mycroft said. _Damn, how did I not see him?_

“Whatever are you talking about, brother?” Sherlock asked innocently.

“Oh, don’t play stupid, ‘brother,’ it doesn’t suit you.” Mycroft was leaning against the wall that connected the kitchen to the living room. He held a half-eaten biscuit in his hand, though it did nothing to diminish the air of authority he possessed. “John needs you here,” he said in a serious tone, “not gallivanting around on your quest for revenge.”

“John’s sleeping. I’ll be back before he wakes up,” Sherlock challenged. Yes, if all went to plan, he would make it from the Watson’s to Addison and back home in an hour and a half. Without looking back, Sherlock left the flat.

As he got in a cab, his brother’s words rang in his ears. He knew it wasn’t the best thing for John, but it was all Sherlock had to offer. Comforting the boy was good, Sherlock could do that, but he could tell it wasn’t enough for John. The Sub still had reservations about trusting him; Sherlock could see it in his eyes, in his body language.

It was also a selfish act, Sherlock admitted to himself. He wanted to see those bastards bleed for the bruises they put on John. They deserved to feel the fear his Sub felt, and Sherlock would make sure they did.

It didn’t take long to arrive at the Watsons’ place. Sherlock stepped out, asked the cabbie to wait for him, then made his way to the front door. He didn’t need to be sneaky, no that would defeat the purpose of the message. They were never to come near John again, and if they did, well, this would happen. Hamish opened the door and Sherlock darted forward. He grabbed the man by his shirt collar and pushed him backwards, letting the door fly open.

Sherlock growled, actually growled, at the man when he thrust him up against the wall. Hamish was still in shock by the time he thudded to a stop, but was woken out of his stupor when his wife screamed.

“Get off of him! Let him go!” she shouted, but was too frightened, or too much of a coward, Sherlock presumed, to help her husband.

“I heard you like to beat up on Subs, you pathetic excuse for a Dom,” Sherlock hissed, his eyes seeing red and his adrenaline driving him forward.

“You better take your hands off me, right now,” Hamish warned, though it was obvious by the man’s posture and the quiver in his voice that he knew he was bested by Sherlock Holmes.

“Or what?” Sherlock asked, mocking and tilting his head to the side. “You think you can take somebody your own size? Well go on then,” Sherlock said, pushing Hamish once more against the wall, then backing off. He took a defensive stance, then waited for the moron to make the first move. Then, he could say it was self-defense…that is if one of the more inane officers were called to the house.    

Hamish, embarrassed, looked over at his wife and then lunged at Sherlock, who easily dodged the burly man, giving him a good slap on the back to throw him off balance as he ran past. Sherlock stomped his foot on the back of the other man’s knee, bringing a shout from Hamish and a God awful squeal from June.

Hamish fell to the floor as June ran out of the room, no doubt to call the police. Sherlock didn’t care about that though; he would be out of there before anyone showed up. To drive his point home, Sherlock kicked the man hard in the stomach. “You. Will. Never. Ever. Touch. Another. Sub. Again!” Sherlock growled, slamming his foot home with every word.

Sherlock bent down and gripped the man’s hair, lifting him up as he groaned. “If you ever so much as mention John’s name again, I will come back and I’ll rip your tongue out and make you eat it if off the floor.” Punching Hamish in the face a couple more times for good measure, Sherlock felt satisfied that he had rectified his earlier mistake.

John had counted on him, believed in him, trusted that Sherlock could and would protect him. That day that John’s parents came to the interview, Sherlock had been so shocked he couldn’t move, couldn’t speak. He had let his Sub down, failed him. But now, Sherlock was making it right, making sure John was safe. All that was left was to have a ‘discussion’ with Addison.

“You monster!” June shouted, rushing to her husband’s side. She cradled his bloody face and lifted up his shirt to expose bright red splotches, similar to the ones that had appeared on John.

“I’ll be watching you,” Sherlock said, wiping the blood of his knuckles with a white hankerchief from his pocket. “Have a nice evening,” he said, a predatory smile on his face.

He left the house with a lighter heart and a calmer mind. Mycroft was wrong, Sherlock needed this, John needed this; it was retribution at its finest. Then, the pompous interfering git had to go and call another pompous interfering git.

“Sherlock!” Greg shouted as he stepped out of a black sedan. _Off duty. That’s good._ “What the hell are you doing here?”

“Mr. Watson fell out a window, I was merely acting as a Good Samaritan,” Sherlock said, smiling, though he knew he couldn’t talk his way out of this with Greg, who was one of the only people he couldn’t bullshit.

“It’s a one story house, Sherlock,” Greg sighed, walking up to the house. He grabbed Sherlock by the arm and dragged him towards the front door.

“Is it?” Sherlock asked innocently, “that’s strange, I hadn’t noticed.”

“What did you do? And don’t bullshit me.” Greg knocked on the door, keeping hold of Sherlock as if he was a little kid who needed to apologize to the neighbors for breaking their window with a ball.

“I simply restored balance to the world.”

June opened the door, frowning as she glared at Sherlock, then directed her attention to Lestrade. “You? When are the other police coming?”

“I’m all there is, ma’am. What is your emergency?” Greg said with the coolness of a veteran officer.

“This…thug beat up my husband! I want him arrested!” She pointed at Sherlock, who gave her a much more intimidating look than she could ever hope to achieve.

“Can I see your husband, ma’am?”

She let both men in, taking a couple steps back from Sherlock. “See! See! Look what he did to my poor Hamish!” Sitting in the recliner was the battered form of Hamish Watson. The man had ice pressed to his cheek and was clutching his belly as if every movement pained him. _Good._

Greg turned to look at Sherlock, his wide eyes saying: ‘what the hell is wrong with you?’He turned back to Hamish. “Sir, are you alright? Do you need to me call an ambulance?”

Before Hamish could speak, Sherlock looked at the man, fixing him with a warning glare. Sherlock knew the Watsons were idiots, but they did have enough self-preservation to avoid any more connections with Sherlock Holmes.   

“No,” Hamish said, lisping. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? You don’t look fine,” Greg said, crouching down to take a good look at the man.

“He said he’s fine, Lestrade,” Sherlock said, a smirk on his face.

“Who did this to you? Do you want to press charges?”

Hamish looked up at Sherlock, wide eyed and then shook his head rapidly. “No.”

Greg sighed, but stood up, putting his hands on his hips. “At least let me call an ambulance. Get you cleaned up a bit.”

“No,” Hamish rasped out again. Sherlock was quite pleased with himself when he could see the man shaking with fear.

“Alright then,” Greg said, handing them his card, and then turned to leave. Sherlock followed the DI out, glancing back once to wink at the Watsons. He had never been the common brawler, nor had he believed violence was better than words, but when he saw John’s broken body, Sherlock made an exception.

“You complete and utter arsehole,” Greg shouted at him when they got outside. The older Dom pushed him roughly. Sherlock braced himself and took it; Greg wasn’t the one he wanted to punish. “Why would you do that?!”

“They deserved it and you know it. You saw the condition John was in once he left their house,” Sherlock said, noting his cab was gone. He sighed, realizing he wouldn’t be visiting Mr. Addison anytime today.

“Then you have John write up a report for Sub abuse! Then, I’ll take care of it through the legal system!” Greg shouted again, clearly angry at Sherlock’s actions. Sherlock understood the man had a job to do, but when it got in the way of his mission, he would have none of it.

“That’s a laugh,” Sherlock said. Even if the police did investigate what went on under the Watson roof, it would take at least a year for anything productive to happen. Before Sherlock could protest, Greg grabbed him by the collar of his coat and hauled him to his car. Opening the door, the DI threw Sherlock into the front seat and slammed the door.

“I was home, eating my lunch when I get a call from your brother telling me he thinks you’re heading over to the Watson’s to do something stupid. This is ridiculous, Sherlock, you aren’t a kid anymore. I can’t bail you out every time you get those stupid ideas in your head.”

As they drove back towards Baker Street, Sherlock kept his arms crossed tightly over his chest as his eyes stared out the window. For some reason, he felt like he needed to make Greg understand, maybe even get the man to be on his side and then they could go to Addison’s house together. “John broke down in the shower when we got him home.”

“Yeah, I don’t blame him. Poor lad’s been through a lot these last few days,” Greg paused and looked over at Sherlock with sympathy in his eyes. “But John’s a strong kid, he’ll bounce back…with the proper care that is.”

“Oh,” Sherlock scoffed, “says the man who lost his wife to another Dom because he worked too much…oh yes, and then proceeded to practically drink himself to death, alienating every Sub in a 20 kilometer radius and landing him with the only person who would accept him, another workaholic Dom with the emotional capacity of a teacup. So please, Detective Inspector, tell me how to take care of my Sub when you can’t even take care of yourself.”

Suddenly, the car came to a screeching halt. Luckily, Greg had been able to pull onto the side of the road, but honestly, he didn’t look like he cared one bit if he was in the middle of the street. His dark eyes bore into Sherlock, making the young Dom actually squirm in his seat. It seemed for a minute that Greg was going to lay into Sherlock with everything he had, which was what Sherlock expected and why he had flung insults at him. Getting Greg riled up meant the man wouldn’t be thinking clearly, and perhaps Sherlock would get his way.

Then, the dark brown eyes softened and the corners of his mouth quirked in a sad smile. “I’ve had my problems, so has your brother, so have you, but that’s the past, Sherlock. If you would just listen to me for one second without trying to manipulate the situation to get what you want, you might learn something.” Greg turned to face the road again and pulled back onto the street. There was a long pause before he spoke again. “It seems to me John’s trying to put his walls back up, but he’s having a hard time.”

“I can break the walls down if I prove to him that I can take care of him, prove I can protect him from people that want to hurt him.” Sherlock said. That’s all he wanted for John. He wanted to step past those broken down barriers and hug the Sub he cared about more than anything in this world.

“See Sherlock, that’s your problem right there. You can’t tear down his walls and expect him to trust you. He’ll just see you as any other Dom trying to control him. No, if you really want John to be on your side, you have to get him to bring his guard down on his own.”

Sherlock furrowed his brow, considering Greg’s words. John had started to respond to him during their more intimate moments. They laughed together at how stupid Mycroft could be, they talked like old friends sometimes. Yes, that’s what Sherlock wanted! He wanted John to feel like he wasn’t a Sub at all, like they were just friends…and maybe even lovers. _But how? He is still a Sub, my Sub._

“Do you understand?” Greg asked as they pulled in front of 221B.

Sherlock nodded his head curtly, not willing to show the other Dom how right he was. _Wouldn’t want it going to his head, now would we?_

“And if my men see you going anywhere near Addison’s place, I’ll arrest you, Mycroft be damned.”

Sherlock gasped, leaning back in faux shock. “Detective, putting your lover’s brother in jail? How could you?”

“He told me to take you to jail this time,” Greg laughed as Sherlock’s pout became real. “Alright, now get out and go take care of John…the right way.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes and swiftly stepped out of the car. His coat billowed behind him as he walked up the steps and into 221B. He opened the door, a smile on his face now that he knew what needed to be done with John, then he stopped dead in the doorway.

It appeared as though a great windstorm had torn its way through the flat. Tables and sofas were overturned, glass was shattered, and books were strewn all over the place. It was a right mess, and immediately, Sherlock panicked. The last time something like this had happened, people were looking for John. _Oh God, I couldn’t protect him!_ “John! Mycroft!” he shouted.

He ran farther into the room, sighing in relief when he saw both men sitting on the floor, their backs braced against the wall. They each had a chocolate chip biscuit in their hand, munching on them happily. John was sweaty, but didn’t look any more injured than he had been when Sherlock left. Mycroft on the other hand, was still panting slightly. His dress shirt had been pulled out and his hair was completely ruffled, but he too had a smile on his face as he took a large bite of biscuit.

“What did I miss?” Sherlock asked, as he began deducing the two men on the floor. He smiled when he realized what happened. In silence, Sherlock sat down next to John, who offered him half of his biscuit. With a smile, Sherlock took it and ate it quietly, happy to sit and wait.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter will reveal how Mycroft got John back and what happened between them while Sherlock was gone.


	5. Live and Let Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's rage boils over. Mycroft is there for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> My apologies for missing last week's update. With Thanksgiving, relatives, and a new puppy running around, Sherlock and John got pushed to the back burner. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. And as always, thanks to the magnificent TPurr for editing!

Chapter 5 – Live and Let Die

When John woke up he was strapped to a cold metal table. Leather straps wrapped around his wrists, his ankles, and his chest, keeping him immobilized. Panic started to set in when he realized he was not the only one in the room. Instinctively, John began to struggle against his bonds. He had no idea where he was or how he got here, but he was damn sure it wasn’t a good place.

“Get me out of this thing!” John demanded, when he saw a tall figure coming closer to the table. Out of the corner of his eye the blurry man came into view, revealing the monster John saw every time he closed his eyes. Addison walked up to stand over him, a smile on his face. “No…no, not you!” John cried, putting all his strength into his arms to try and break his bonds and strangle the man.

“Calm down, John. Remember, I told you it would all be over before you knew it. Just try and relax and think…happy thoughts.” The man patted John’s bare chest. It wasn’t until then that John realized he was completely naked and there was something encasing his penis.

“W-What?” John asked, looking down to see his flaccid cock inside a snug clear tube, which was connected to a machine on the floor. At the tip was a smaller plastic tube that was connected to an IV bag. “No, please don’t,” John whined, wiggling his hips to try and dislodge the device.

Addison stayed by his side, instructing a woman about Sherlock’s age, who was down by the machine. “Let’s try setting two.”

“Ahh!” John cried, his hips coming off the table and his toes curling as the tube around his cock began to suction and massage his flesh. John tried to think of the most disgusting sludge he’d seen in the sewers, the ugliest people he’d ever come across, and even dead puppies. But instead, as the machine mercilessly jerked him off, thoughts of Sherlock’s mouth on him filled his hormone saturated brain.

In an embarrassing one minute, _hey, it’s been a while,_ John was coming into the tube. He watched as the white fluid was sucked into the smaller tube and pooled into the clear bag. It was that easy, John realized, that easy for them to get what they wanted.

“Good boy,” Addison cooed, stroking a hand through John’s sweaty hair. “Release him.”

_This is it. Gotta make a run for it!_ As soon as all the straps were removed, John made a move to grab Addison. He was stopped, however, when the man spoke in a mere whisper. “Stop.” Immediately, a wave of bliss hit him so hard he almost fell back onto the table. His hands stopped, his muscles strained to keep him suspended in time. “There we go,” the Dom said, reaching his hand up to touch the large metal collar connected to John.

_No…no, they got me!_ With panicked eyes, John looked around the room for someone to help him. All he saw was a line of Subs, young and old, standing along the edges of the room. The lights in the room glistened off each of the collars around their necks and dull lifeless smiles were carved on their faces like hollow jack ‘o lanterns.

John was one of them now, one of the zombies created from the collar Mycroft had made. _Mycroft? Mycroft!_ As if appearing on cue, the tall elegant man strode in, not even looking at John.

“Ah, Mr. Holmes, so good of you to make the delivery in person,” Addison said, leaving John’s side and walking over to stand in front of Mycroft.

“Since this is our biggest shipment of the new collars, I thought it only proper to show my appreciation.”

“Now that we have these wonderful inventions, my business will double, maybe even triple in sales. The RDD market is virtually untouched and now…” the man smiled, letting his comment hang in the air. But John knew what was going to happen. All those Subs with RDD would now become slaves, and it was all because of Mycroft Holmes.

“I’m glad you’ve found the collar useful. You’ll let me know if you encounter any problems, yes?” With that, Mycroft turned to leave, sparing one glance at John, then turned his back.

“Mycroft!” John shouted, struggling to get off the bed with dopamine still running through his system. The Dom didn’t even react to the teenager. “Mycroft! MYCROFT PLEASE DON’T LEAVE ME! MYCROFT!”

Suddenly, there were hands on his shoulders, pulling him out of his nightmare. Staring down at him were dark blue eyes, wide with concern and worry. “John! John, it’s alright, it’s alright. I’m here,” the man said, putting one hand on John’s shoulder and the other on the teen’s cheek. “I’m here,” he repeated, squeezing John’s shoulder.

“You…” _it was all just a dream. Thank bloody hell for that. But it still doesn’t change the fact that Mycroft is going to sell those collars to people like Addison._ “You fucking bastard!” John shouted, pushing at Mycroft’s shoulders even though the man didn’t budge from where he sat on the bed.

Mycroft sighed, removing his hands from John and pinching the bridge of his nose. “I see you’re back to your normal well-behaved self.” Standing up, he brushed himself off, his white dress shirt still unwrinkled and his gray dress trousers impeccably clean.

“What did you do?” John growled, the adrenaline, anger, and even some fear from the nightmare bleeding through to reality.    

“I’m afraid you will have to be more specific, John.”

“How did you get me back? Did you trade Addison collars for my life? HOW?!” he shouted, wanting to strangle the man in front of him.

“Ah,” Mycroft nodded his head in understanding. “Come, let’s take this conversation to the kitchen. There are some biscuits waiting for you. I’m sure you’re starved.” Mycroft walked out of the room, expecting John to follow. “You’ll like these. Mrs. Hudson, our landlady from across the hall, made them.”  

Grudgingly, John got out of bed, moaning as his bruising and leg protested.

John only glared at the back of the man’s head as they walked to the kitchen. His shoulders were hunched and his nostrils flared, ready to tell Mycroft exactly what he thought of his scheming.

When they arrived in the kitchen, John saw the big plate of biscuits and immediately, his mouth began to water. He hadn’t realized how hungry he actually was. The sandwich pieces he’d eaten on the floor hadn’t sustained his teenage metabolism for but a few hours. So going against his better judgment – after all, one cannot have a serious conversation while eating biscuits – he sat down with a thud and took the largest most delicious looking pastry. He took an obscenely large bite as Mycroft sat down across from him.

John glared across the table and was quite frustrated when Mycroft seemed unfazed by the teenager’s actions. “How did you do it?” John asked once he’d swallowed a gulp of milk that Mycroft must have prepared beforehand. “My da said Addison was the highest bidder.”

“He was,” Mycroft confirmed, placing both palms down on the table and giving John his full attention.

“So,” John said, “how did you get me back? What did you have to trade with him?” John was hoping his dream was just a worst case scenario and not a reality.

“I had my people check his bank account to see how large the cashier’s cheque was for your purchase. I must say it was rather large,” Mycroft said, a strange but fond smile on his face. “Therefore, I decided to dig deeper and that’s when I discovered Mr. Addison’s weak spot.”     

John quirked his eyebrow, intrigued.

“It seems your buyer had a significant amount of debt built up with a certain… organization, shall we say. And I just so happen to be friends with the head of this organization.”

“So you told your buddy where Addison is?” John asked, still hopeful the stupid bastard who enjoyed grabbing his bollocks would be taught a lesson the hard way.

“No, John, no. I simply requested that Mr. Addison either pay his debt now, instead of having the allotted two years, or he give you back to me.”

“That’s it? He just gets to go on his merry fucking way!?” He couldn’t believe it! These people were getting off easy while John still had nightmares that made him cry out in the night.

“What would you have me do, John?” Mycroft asked, his tone forbidding. He stared at John from across the table, his eyes implacable. “Beat him to a bloody pulp, like some common miscreant?”

“Hell yes! I’ll fucking help!” John shouted, angry at… well, everything. John knew the core of his anger didn’t stem from Mycroft; after all the man had saved his life. But right now the Dom was the only one within striking distance. His frustration at everything that had happened to him, the nightmare that very well could become a reality, the fact that Sherlock had left him alone in a bed after he’d promised to never leave him again, it all swelled into a gigantic tidal wave of pure rage.

“You seem to have done well so far in beating people up,” Mycroft snapped, gesturing to John’s bruised body.

“Shut the fuck up you stupid, posh…” John tried to think of an adequate name for the man in front of him, but his wit failed him. “…Bastard!” he stuttered out, clenching his fists and shooting up from his seat. “I could leave right now, you know!” John said, ready to storm out the door and never look back.

It would be easier that way, wouldn’t it? To put the warmth he felt for the Holmes men in a locked door in the basement of his soul. He wouldn’t have to see their faces, hear their soothing voices, or listen to their stupidly brilliant sibling rivalry arguments. Yes, John decided, these collars and those they affected were not his problem, shouldn’t be his problem. He was just a kid and shouldn’t have to put up with this bullshit anymore.

John narrowed his eyes at the man sitting calmly in the chair, then turned his back and walked briskly to the front door. It would be cold outside, but John could survive. Hell, it would be a welcome discomfort compared to discussing morality and right and wrong with a Dom who would never understand.

“John,” Mycroft said, in a voice that didn’t seem to care if John left or not.

“Fuck off,” John growled. He gripped the door knob tightly, his heart racing as fast as the thoughts in his mind. He had to do this. Had to leave. Had to get away. Had to stop caring about everyone else but himself, and then maybe, just maybe, the nightmares would stop. Yes, it was time to cut ties with the Holmes brothers.   _I don’t want to go!_

“John,” the voice was closer now, right in his ear actually, making John startle and turn the knob. A hand clamped down on his shoulder, pulling him back from the door slightly. “Don’t walk away from me…boy,” Mycroft added as an afterthought, as if he had been contemplating whether or not to use that terminology.

John could hear his father’s voice ringing in his head. He could see the fists flying and the feet making contact with his stomach. John saw red. The Sub whirled around, swinging a clenched fist at Mycroft’s face. The satisfying crunch of bone meeting cartridge never came though, as the Dom seemed to anticipate the attack and leaned back.

His instincts and adrenaline fueling his movements, John dove towards the way-too-calm man. Mycroft simply stepped to the side and gave John’s back a little push as the Sub rushed by. John fell to his knees, rolling forward a tad. It was embarrassing to say the least, which made John even angrier. His leg hurt, his ribs hurt, his head hurt, and now his pride was hurt.

John growled, baring his teeth up at Mycroft, who stood over him, an unreadable expression on his face. “This isn’t some game, John. We are dealing with the real world now; not some fantasy land where you are Robin Hood and your little band of Subs can go around fixing things just because you have good intentions.” The Dom put his hands on his hips, appearing much larger than he actually was. “You can’t go around breaking bones and smashing things to get what you want, John.”

“I’ll show you smashing things!” John roared, his body shaking now from the anger boiling through the pores of his skin. He wanted to hurt someone, make them feel the pain he felt, he wanted to make Mycroft pay for being a Dom while John got the short end of the stick.

Scrambling up from the floor, John wavered a little bit, his leg giving out from the pain. Without hesitation, he picked up a decorative tea set off the coffee table and threw it as hard as he could at Mycroft’s head.

Again, the Dom dodged it and didn’t even flinch when it crashed against the wall, little pieces of china scattering everywhere. John’s chest was heaving as he waited for Mycroft’s response. The expected reaction was for the man to try and dom him to his knees and punish him. It never came. Instead, Mycroft placed both hands on a side table next to the sofa and pushed it over. A lamp and a few papers fell to the carpet, the crash a preamble to the long silence between the two men.

John didn’t understand. Confusion was starting to replace his rage, but there was still a buzzing feeling all along his skin. “Is this what you want? Will this make things better?” Mycroft asked, knocking the coat rack over and fixing John with an expectant stare. “Come on then,” he said, grabbing a crystal decanter off the shelf and holding it out to John.

John stared at the fine decanter in the Dom’s hand, scrunching his face up. He didn’t know what to do. The urge to throw it or bash it over Mycroft’s head was overwhelming, but… _what good would that do?_ John grabbed the crystal, feeling the weight of it in his palm. An unstoppable wave washed over him, making his dry lips tremble and his eyes burn. He hated this life. With that thought on the edge of his mind, John threw the expensive decanter at the wall, leaving a giant dent in the wall.

“Good! Again!” Mycroft shouted, picking up the remote and throwing it into a painting.

John looked on in awe of the man for only a moment, then let his need to destroy something take over. He walked over to the coffee table and flipped it over. His muscles strained at thoughts of his parents selling him. The loud thud of the wood hitting the floor seemed to satisfy something inside him, seemed to extinguish the fires fueled by thoughts of his parents and Addison.

Turning around, John could feel his breathing start to pick up as thoughts of all the Subs he couldn’t save bombarded his mind. With a growl that turned into a whine, John went over to the sofa and tried to flip it over. He was too weak though, bringing a sob from his lips as he pressed his face into the fabric.

Suddenly, the sofa began to move. John looked up to see Mycroft at the other end, lifting. Smiling, John grunted and tipped the large piece of furniture over to lie on its back. When he looked at the destruction around the room, it was as if a giant plug in his feet had been pulled. All the anger that had built up over the past month slowly leaked out of him, the ache in his muscles proof that he had done something about it.

John squeezed his eyes together and put his hand over his mouth to try and cover up the sobs coming from his throat. He walked over and slumped down against the wall, bringing his knees to his chest and hiding his face.

He was only alone for a moment, then a warm body sat down next to him. The silence lasted for a while, helping everything sink in. “They…” he swallowed hard, bringing more tears down his cheeks. “They sold me. My own…my own parents,” John cried, too ashamed to look at Mycroft.   

“I know,” was all Mycroft said, but the comforting arm he placed around John’s back was all the Sub needed. “That’s not what true Doms do.” Mycroft pulled John in close, pressing the Sub’s head to his chest, cradling him there as the teenager cried. “Sherlock and I will take care of you, John. I promise you that.”

John believed him, believed every word. His body was so exhausted from the adrenaline rush that he just let his head rest on Mycroft’s chest. “I don’t know what’s going to happen,” John said, his voice soft and sounding very much like a scared child.

Mycroft hesitated before he answered. “Everything will be alright in the end, John,” he said, pushing the teenager to sit up straight. “Now here, I’m sure your blood sugar has dropped tremendously.” The Dom handed him a biscuit and took a bite of his own.

His emotions were so raw right now, he just couldn’t help the laugh that escaped his throat. “Thanks,” John said, taking it and slowly nibbling on the edges. They sat there for ten minutes, happy to reside in the battlefield of John’s breakdown. Then Sherlock returned.

“John! Mycroft!” the man shouted before he came upon them. John watched as the man deduced what happened and waited for what he would say. He didn’t expect the man to be mad; after all, Sherlock had destroyed more furniture around the flat than a tornado could have managed.

“What did I miss?” he asked. Then when neither man answered, Sherlock sat down next to John. Without thinking, John offered the Dom half of his biscuit, happy when the youngest Dom didn’t feel the need to break the silence. John was tired of talking and trying to argue his points. Hell, John was tired of talking period. The silence was kind. The silence was predictable. The silence was bliss.         

          


	6. Civil War

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's inner battle is driving him mad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy this chapter. It is a lot of dialog, but it is necessary to get where we're going...which, I really don't know how this is going to end, but don't tell anyone I said that. 
> 
> This is not beta'ed as of right now, but the edited version should be up in a few days. So, sorry for the mistakes.

Chapter 6 – Civil War

“I think I’m going crazy,” John whispered, mostly to himself. He looked down at the crumbs on his shirt, plucking at the fabric to make them jump. Perhaps he was slowly losing his mind. It would make sense, especially after everything that had happened. The collar had sent tremendous amounts of electricity to his brain, Sherlock had forced bliss, which John hadn’t felt in 16 years, to flood him, and now the affirmation that his parents truly didn’t want him, broke the teenager’s mind.

Being torn in two wasn’t helping matters. The tall dark haired man sitting next to him had somehow wormed his way under John’s skin, imprinting…no, more like branding his heart with scorching metal. Being a true Sub for Sherlock was all John wanted, all that sweet, innocent, little boy deep inside John wanted. The brash angry teenager side, however, threw stones to shatter the windows of the perfect little house John had built with the Holmes men to take care of him.

John knew those collars were out there, being placed on Subs with RDD, as he lay there eating a biscuit. Doms like Addison and his parents would abuse them, just like they did with regular Subs. The look on Jim’s face though, that’s what confused John the most. Jim loved the collar, loved being with Greg just as much as John loved being with Sherlock. Hell, the kid freaked out when Irene’s doctors tried to take it off.

The collar wasn’t all bad, but the problem was, some of the Doms who used the collars were. _And how in the hell does a 16 year old Sub go about fixing more than half the Dom population? My only chance it to get the word out that Subs can create their own bliss. But how the fuck do I do that? It’s pointless…futile…useless…they’ve won…I’ve lost…game over._

“You’re not going crazy, John,” Sherlock said, startling the teenager out of his inner musings. “You’ve been through a very traumatic ordeal and it is perfectly normal for someone in your position to be angry.”

John buried his face in his hands, scrubbing them up and down as if he could wipe the pain away along with the dead skin. A soothing hand dropped easily on to his back, rubbing long sweeping strokes along his spine. It was Sherlock hand, John knew, of course it was his hand. It always was.

“I can’t stop it,” John mumbled into his hands. His throat closed up every time he thought about the poor Subs who he couldn’t help. He had to help them. Had to.

“Stop what, John?” Sherlock asked.

“The suffering,” he said simply. John lowered his hands into his lap and turned his head to stare up at Sherlock. Blue eyes that looked like quicksilver stared down at him with kindness and understanding. The Dom nodded once, only breaking eye contact for a second to look up at his brother.

“That is not your battle to fight, nor is it even possible for a sixteen year old to end such a thing. You must think on a smaller scale, John.” Sherlock continued to pet his back, moving up to play with the soft hair on his head.

John looked inquisitively up at Sherlock. Although he hated to admit it, half of John’s concentration was on what Sherlock was saying, while the other was making sure the man didn’t try to dom him. _I guess that’s what you get when you live with Doms._

“You need to focus on yourself, Jim, Molly, Mike, and your sister. You have already ensured Jim and Molly’s happiness and soon Harry and Mike will be collared and placed with good Doms as well. Shouldn’t that count for something?”

John’s brow knitted close together, his whole face scrunching up as his brain worked overtime to come up with an answer. _Am I responsible for those poor souls I saw in the kennel? I know for sure I can protect my friends. Is that enough? To save four Subs from suffering? Have I met my quota of good deeds? Holy shit, how can I even think like that?_

“It’s not enough,” John said, letting his head fall back against the wall a little harder than he meant to. Sherlock placed his hand in between John’s head and the wall, just in case the Sub decided to repeat the action.

“Sometimes we need to accept the things we cannot fix,” Mycroft chimed in, his hands splayed out on his gray suit trousers as he stared thoughtfully into the distance.

John turned to him, his eyes narrowed to show his displeasure at the statement. _John Watson doesn’t just roll over and die!_ John grimaced even harder when he recalled having the same attitude when Sherlock and Mycroft first kidnapped him. _Now look where I am. I can’t sleep without Sherlock to cuddle me. I can hardly eat without the stupid Dom feeding me. A lot of good fighting did me. I’m a domestic dog now. Maybe fighting is just running around in circles to get to the exact same finish line every time._

“How…how can you say that? I can’t just…” John’s face scrunched into a tight mess of withheld anguish. “I can’t just leave them to their fate.”

“John, that is what the collar is for,” Mycroft said.

John scoffed, shrugging his lips and crossing his arms over his chest. That collar was a curse, not a blessing, no matter what Mycroft said.

“Look at me,” Mycroft ordered. Although there was no bliss in the command – at least Mycroft knew better than to try and dom John at this point – his voice held a certain authority that made the teenager turn back to face him. “I am not blind to Sub’s suffering, no, let me finish,” he held up his hand when John tried to interrupt and inform him of how much shit he was full of. “These collars will give Subs pleasure and Doms obedience from their Subs. Although the system is not perfect yet, it is a large step in the right direction for proper care of Subs.”

“We don’t need caring for though!” John shouted, feeling anger rise in his gut again until Sherlock squeezed the back of his neck. “This collar only ensures their enslavement more.”

Mycroft sighed and stood up, stretching his back and wincing when his wounded shoulder was pulled too far. “I’m afraid youth does not grace my body anymore.”

“Don’t try to change the subject, Mycroft!” John said, moving to stand up, but fell back down when pain shot through his leg.

Again, Mycroft let out a deep sigh. “Subs are not being enslaved when it is in their very nature to want to be controlled and taken care of. Look at yourself, John. Look at how well you and your friends functioned without a proper care. When we found you, you were the epitome of a Sub in need of a Dom: malnourished, aggressive, defensive, resistant to even the smallest of touches, and not to mention terrified of your own shadow. ”

“I was not!” John said, indignant. He was the strongest he’d even been when he was out there taking care of his friends. Sure he sometimes wished he wasn’t the leader and the huge responsibilities didn’t fall on his shoulders, but it was his choice, his burden to bear. “Subs can survive on their own just fine. Irene had an entire group of Subs who could take care of themselves.”

“John-” Sherlock tried, but was interrupted by the determined Sub.

“If I can get more Subs to realize they can produce their own bliss, then they wouldn’t need the collars, wouldn’t need Doms.” John was sure this was the only way to free himself and the other Subs.

“If you would like to use the Sub Resistance as an example of how Subs can survive on their own, perhaps it is best to mention sixty-four percent of them are dead and the others that we have found are in comas. So yes,” Mycroft put his hands on his hip, sure that he had won the verbal battle, “I believe that demonstrates Subs, by nature, cannot be in control of their own bliss.”

“What?” John asked, shocked. “You mean…you found the rest of them? How did they die? Why are they in comas? What the fuck did your people do to them?!” John stood up, this time bracing himself on the wall behind him. Sherlock hopped up as well, keeping a hand on John’s shoulder.

“We did nothing to them, John. We simply brought them in and most of them filled themselves with bliss during transportation, most likely fear related. When they arrived, most had passed out and a few were already dead from an overdose of dopamine. Our doctors did everything they could to counteract the drugs in their systems, but most of the Subs were too far gone.”

“Is Irene…”

“She’s still alive. Apparently she was smart enough to know the effects of too much bliss. We have her in custody.”

“I…I want to talk to her,” John said, without thinking. She was the only other Sub John knew besides his friends. If anyone would have an idea of how to help Subs, she would. _Except last time her idea was to blow up a fucking building._

“I don’t think that’s such a good idea, John,” Sherlock said, rubbing the tension out of the space between John’s neck and shoulder. “You’ve been through a lot these last couple of weeks and I think it’s time we take a break.”

“I don’t want to take a break! I don’t care what you say about Subs! You’re wrong and I’m going to prove it!” John stomped his good foot, ashamed at how childish it made him appear.

“What good will it do to let you talk with Irene?” Mycroft asked.

“I just…I need to talk to another Sub.” Before Mycroft could offer John some stupid little house pet Sub to talk to, John continued. “A Sub who knows what I’m going through. I promise I won’t do anything to compromise you or IBAD,” John assured, “I just want to talk.”

Mycroft looked skeptical at him for a moment, then relented. “Alright, I will set up a meeting with her tomorrow.” The tall man stuck his nose up in the air and walked to the kitchen to get another biscuit no doubt.  

John smiled for the first time in a while, happy that the tide seemed to turn in his favor this time. “Now,” Sherlock said, patting John on the back and grabbing his shoulders to steer him towards the overturned couch. “You are going to sit here and watch the telly like a normal teenager. No stabbing people in the foot, jumping out of cars or windows, and especially no running into burning buildings.” In one move, Sherlock flipped the piece of furniture back over without so much as a grunt.  

“What about biting people’s hands?” John asked, letting a surprise giggle escape his lips.

“No!” Mycroft shouted from the kitchen. The sound was muffled around crumbs, making Sherlock and John burst into laughter. It felt good to laugh, as if some part, the part that had opened up and spilled out all that anger, was healing a little bit. Mycroft glared at both of them, halting the loud laughter at once. Sherlock and John exchanged an amused look, then plopped down on the couch.

Without hesitation, Sherlock put an arm around John’s shoulders, bringing the Sub in close. With equally as much hesitation, John leaned his head over on the man’s chest. It felt nice, right. The soft beating that could be heard below the blue dress shirt lulled John into a non-blissed relaxed state that he hadn’t reached since…ever.

As he closed his eyes and the noise from the telly faded into the background, John heard something that made his eyes shoot wide open. “I love you, John.”

He licked his lips and curled his feet up under him, digging his head deeper into Sherlock’s body. He loved Sherlock, of course he did, but that didn’t mean the Dom had to love him back. But now, _what the fuck does this mean?_ “I…” John paused, closing his eyes and hoping, no, praying to whatever God helped wayward Subs that he wasn’t making the biggest mistake of his life. “I love you too.”    


	7. You Could Be Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sherlock's finally accepting his feelings. John's insecure. Mycroft has some bad news...yeah, like really bad news.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey all! 
> 
> I hope you all are having a wonderful winter month, whether you celebrate Christmas, another belief, or none at all. I'm traveling this coming week, so I can't guarantee a chapter next Sunday, though I have a five hour lay over in Atlanta where I will probably be able to finish all my writing. WooHoo! Anyways, happy holidays and have a wonderful new year :) 
> 
> Thanks so much to TPurr for editing this chapter for me. I made a few changes after her, so all mistakes are mine.

Chapter 7 – You Could be Mine

John had fallen asleep ten minutes ago during the latter half of some history documentary. John always kicked Sherlock in his sleep, so the young Dom knew how easy it would be for the boy to roll over and fall onto the floor. With that in mind, Sherlock held the teenager close to him, supporting John’s head in his lap and keeping a firm hand on his hip to keep him from sliding off the couch. The television murmured in the background as Sherlock listened to John’s even breathing and the little whimpering noises that escaped his pouting lips.

Dreams, or rather nightmares, still plagued the young boy. Sherlock would give anything, even his life, to take those memories away from his Sub. It was his job to comfort him, but how was he supposed to dive into John’s mind and rip out his past? And now, John wanted to put himself through more hurt, more pain. He couldn’t understand why John felt such a need to help all those Subs he’d never even met.

Sherlock combed his hand through John’s soft blond hair, letting a small smile come to his face. John felt safe with him now. The wary teenager felt comfortable enough to let his guard down in front of Sherlock and fall asleep on his lap. That had to count for something, right? _And he said he loved me!_

He wasn’t sure if the Sub meant it or not, or if he was just falling down into subspace and everything went a little hazy. _If John did mean it though, God, what would that mean?_

“Sherlock,” his brother’s concerned voice came from the kitchen. The eldest Holmes walked over and stood before the couple on the couch, hands crossed over his chest and that annoying scowl on his face. “You know how emotionally vulnerable John is right now, yes?”

“Of course I do, Mycroft,” Sherlock snapped. He knew exactly what John needed; someone to take care of him. “I have this under control.”

“Do you?” Mycroft asked, clearly amused. “If I heard correctly, which I’m sure I did, that boy has developed feelings for you. Whether due to his touch and love starved state or a side effect of the collar, you know this is dangerous territory.”

“I’m not going to hurt him,” Sherlock said, breaking eye contact with his brother and looking down at a much better sight on his lap.

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” Mycroft said, raising one eyebrow.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, confused at his brother’s statement. What else would Mycroft be worried about other than John’s wellbeing for the public’s eye.

“He might not choose you, in the end, Sherlock. Has that thought ever crossed your hormone saturated mind?”

“What are you talking about? Do think he’ll choose you?” Sherlock laughed. He knew Mycroft had taken an interest in the boy, but after John had bit his hand and chosen Sherlock’s comfort over Mycroft’s, the eldest Holmes’ interests became purely platonic, if not a bit paternal.

“No, Sherlock, John will choose the fight, however fruitless it might be, over your love and everything it offers.”

Sherlock scowled and unconsciously tightened his grip on John. That wasn’t possible. John would see, he had to see, how pointless this fight for Subs to be completely free of Doms was. The invention of this new collar was the best solution, it was obvious. All Subs feel bliss, therefore they don’t get punished for not following orders. Subs are happy, Doms are happy. It was as simple as that. John would see; Sherlock would just have to show patience and caring like Greg had told him. If he quit trying to grasp the sand so hard, perhaps the grains would stay in his hand.

“He won’t,” Sherlock said, matter-of-factly. “John will make the right decision, in time. Have faith in him. He saved both our lives, after all.”

“It is not his bravery I doubt, Sherlock,” Mycroft said. “It is the past that haunts him and drives his actions that worries me. Ninety percent of the Doms he has met in his short life have shown him some kind of violence, hatred, or, at best, indifference. He might be too far gone to ever fully put his trust in you or me.”

Sherlock pondered for a moment, knowing all that John had been through. All the things he couldn’t protect the teenager from back then, he could do it now. The problem was getting John to believe that. “He’ll be fine. You’ll see,” he challenged his brother. Mycroft didn’t know John like he did; hadn’t slept with John in his arms, hadn’t brought the teenager into subspace just from feeding him. No, Mycroft didn’t understand what it was like to have someone in their most vulnerable state give you everything.

“I hope you’re right, brother. Now, you should feed him, then get some rest. I’m sure he’s exhausted from our little…row.” The brothers looked around at the mess John and Mycroft had created.

“Have fun cleaning that up,” Sherlock laughed, shaking John’s shoulder to stir the boy awake.

“Oh, Anthea will have her men here cleaning in fifteen minutes. No need to worry,” Mycroft said with an air of confidence that Sherlock so hated growing up.

“John, John, love,” Sherlock said, crinkling his nose at the pet name he’d just used. John brought out such strange things in the young Dom, and Sherlock wasn’t sure if he liked it or not.

“Hmm,” the teenager said, sleepily. When his eyes opened wider and he realized where he was, the Sub shot up to limit the bodily contact. “Oh, sorry,” John apologized, biting his lip to reveal his teenage awkwardness.

“It’s alright,” Sherlock assured him with a small smile. Perhaps John had forgotten what he’d said, or perhaps not, and that’s why he was acting embarrassed. Sherlock wasn’t sure which gave him this new feeling of uneasiness in his stomach. “Let’s go ahead and get something besides biscuits,” he gave Mycroft a glare, though his brother only grinned in return, “in you and then we’ll go to bed. You need your rest if we’re going to see Irene tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” John said through a wide yawn, “yeah, that sounds good.” Whether sleepiness or knowing that it was useless to argue against either of the Holmes brothers, John seemed pliant and easy going for being told what to do.

“How’s your leg?” Sherlock asked, helping John up when the teenager tilted a little bit too far in one direction.

“’S fine,” he mumbled, trying his best not to favor the burnt ankle.

“We’ll get you some painkillers and a sedative to help you sleep after we’re done eating.”

“No!” John said quickly, awareness coming back into his eyes. They entered the kitchen with Sherlock sitting down first and pulling John onto his lap easily.

“Yes,” Mycroft corrected as he too sat down at the other end of the table.

“No,” John basically growled. The Sub started to fidget on Sherlock’s lap, forcing the Dom to wrap a tight hand around the small waist. “I’m not taking anything that’s going to stop me from being able to fully wake up during the night.”

Sherlock closed his eyes in frustration. John still didn’t trust him completely. It seemed to be an uphill battle with the stubborn boy. But, no matter how hard headed John could be, Sherlock could always outlast his competitor. “I’ll be there, John. You don’t have to worry about waking up until morning,” Sherlock assured him, rubbing small circles with his thumb on John’s stomach.

“I don’t care, Sherlock. I don’t want to be drugged. The feeling, it’s just…I don’t like it.” John turned his head to look back at Sherlock, his dark blue eyes, more precious than sapphire and deeper than the ocean, determinedly staring at him.

Sherlock smiled inwardly. If his Sub still didn’t trust him, at least he felt brave enough to fight for what he wanted. “Alright,” Sherlock nodded, looking from his brother to John. John smiled, thinking he had won until Sherlock continued. “But, you will accept my bliss to help you fall asleep and stay asleep.”

John looked off in the distance for a moment, considering his options and if it was worth arguing. “And I get another biscuit,” John said, a wide grin forming on his face.

“Deal,” Sherlock nodded. Mycroft rolled his eyes, but picked up his fork and started eating his meal.

Sherlock fed John his dinner piece by piece, feeling as the Sub’s warm pink tongue would poke out cautiously and pull the food into his mouth. Every other bite or so, John would lose himself in the delicious food and extend his tongue too far, caressing Sherlock’s fingers. It was a brief moment, but heat pooled in Sherlock’s belly and desire rose in his every pore.

John was beautiful, that was obvious. But it was the little things that made Sherlock’s heart feel strange, lighter somehow: the way the teenager would slightly resist the bliss Sherlock gave him, then finally give in and let it wash over him, or the way he would bite his lip and curl his finger around his shirt hem, or even better, Sherlock’s shirt hem. But the best of all was when John came out of the shower after masturbating to the thought of his Dom and he would shyly avoid eye contact or speaking to Sherlock for the next hour. Sherlock loved how John’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink when the man caressed his ears or told him ‘good boy.’

Sherlock knew John, and was learning more about him every day. It was like completing one puzzle that leads to another, and another, and another. John was plain and boring by many standards, but the boy’s unflinching bravery, his overconfident quips to the man who practically ran IBAD, and his deep seated and hidden need to be cared for drew Sherlock like a moth to a flame.   

“Let’s get you to bed, shall we,” Sherlock said, easing John off his lap.

“’M not tired,” John actually pouted, which meant, yes, the teenager was extremely tired. Sherlock just ignored his protests and led John up to their room. The boy was already in his pajamas, so Sherlock pulled back the covers to let John slip in.

With his eyes half lidded, John climbed in the bed, turning on his side and twisting his hips to throw his top leg forward. Sherlock scooted in behind him, but waited to push his chest up against John’s back. Not wanting to startle the skittish teenager, Sherlock placed his hand on John’s shoulder. The boy didn’t jump, so Sherlock scooted himself a little closer until he was spooning John completely.

John wiggled a little bit, and if Sherlock wasn’t mistaken, he moved back into the Dom’s embrace. Sherlock raised his arm and encircled it around John, splaying his hand out on the teenager’s belly and ribs. “Do the bruises still hurt?” Sherlock asked. He wanted to growl, but knew this was neither the time nor the place to let his anger get the better of him.

“A li’le,” John slurred, already exhausted, and most likely on the downward slope of his adrenaline high earlier.

“Don’t fight me,” Sherlock whispered, an order. He slowly pushed his dominance over John, projecting what the Sub’s body would turn into bliss. John gave a token rebellion and tightened his muscles, but within seconds, the bliss floating in through the Sub’s back was too much for him to fight against. “Sleep for me, John,” the order was gentle, but John sank deep into oblivion.

The rapid up and down of John’s ribs caused by his will to fight off any dominance slowed to a calm steady rhythm. Sherlock could feel John’s heart through his back, the sound making him smile. _He said he loves me._ That thought made Sherlock smile even more.

With his heart as light as it had ever been, Sherlock closed his eyes. He would have never thought some little homeless Sub who stole his coat would be lying in his arms right now. _It was meant to be._ With a heavy sigh and a deep breath in of John’s hair, Sherlock let sleep take him.

.oOo.

“I don’t want any breakfast. I want to go see her!” John snapped, when Sherlock led him to the kitchen. There was bacon, toast with jam, eggs, and a ripe tomato set out neatly on fine china.

“You need to eat, John,” Sherlock scolded. “Your body is trying to heal itself, and to do that, it needs nourishment.”

“That’s rich coming from the man who burnt his wrist and barely eats one meal a day,” John quipped, narrowing his eyes. The stupid bastard just wouldn’t let it go, and now it was taking even longer for them to leave. Sherlock was so damn stubborn sometimes.

“You both are eating a full breakfast,” a commanding voice came from the living room. “We are not leaving until those plates are clean,” Mycroft said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “That goes for you too, Sherlock,” he added, giving his brother a look that would make little kids cry and most likely wet their pants.

Both men sighed dramatically. “Fine,” they said in unison, both tones petulant.

“You two deserve each other,” John thought he heard Mycroft grumble to himself.

John perched himself on Sherlock’s lap without even thinking about it. It was like muscle memory or…well, John didn’t know, but what he did know, was that it felt so damn good to lean against Sherlock while bacon was fed to him. John could do this forever. Sleep all night with bliss enveloping his body and keeping the demons away, be hand fed gourmet meals, shower with hot water that never ran out, be… _loved._

Like a car crashing into a building, John was hit with the memory of his confession to Sherlock before he fell asleep on the couch. _Holy shit. Holy fucking shit! What the fuck did I just do? Holy shit!_

“John, are you alright?” Sherlock asked, placing his hand on John’s cheek to turn his head to face the Dom. John could feel himself go pale and his eyes probably bugged out of his head. “What’s wrong? Are you going to be sick?” Sherlock asked quickly, looking around for a bucket of some sort.

“No,” John finally got out. “No, I’m okay, just…I’m okay,” he stuck with that, as to not embarrass himself further by stuttering. “I’m just really full. I don’t think I can eat anymore,” he lied. He pushed the hunger pangs aside and hoped his stomach didn’t gurgle in its quest for more food.

“Are you sure? You only ate a few pieces of bacon and a bite of toast,” Sherlock said, concern on his face as he kept eye contact with John. And God was that distracting! John felt himself get lost in the hundreds of shades of silver, aqua, and gold. They seemed to see right through him, as if he was just humoring John in his little ploy to avoid the subject of love.

“Yeah, stomach’s just in knots,” John was about to leave it at that, but then thought of the million different ways Sherlock could interpret that to mean his stomach was in knots because of his Dom. “About Irene, I mean. About meeting with Irene. That’s why I don’t feel much like eating,” John spat out, hoping it made sense enough to cover his own embarrassment. _God, what was I thinking? He did say it first, though…didn’t he? Or did I say it first?_

“Understandable,” Sherlock nodded, letting John’s cheek go. The cool air hit the warm print Sherlock had left, making John shiver and feel… _empty? Alone? No, that’s just stupid, John. Suck it up, we have business today._

“Let’s be on our way then,” Sherlock said, helping John off his lap and steadying him with two hands on the teenager’s hips. “Go get Mycroft, I’ll grab out coats.”

John walked into the living room…the clean living room, John noticed, in awe. _These people are just crazy scary._ Mycroft’s office door was open, so John rapped his knuckles against the door frame and walked into the dimly lit room.

Mycroft was sitting at his desk, his elbows on the table with his head hung low, supported by his hands. He had a look of severe concentration and frustration on his face, as he stared down at the papers on his desk. When John entered the room, the Dom’s head shot up, fixing the teenager with a furious glare. “Did I say you could come into my office?” His tone was clipped. John knew something was wrong the minute he looked in Mycroft’s eyes. Plus, the man had never talked to him like that, not even when they first met or when John was punished.

“No, but I just thought-”

“What did you think, John? Please, enlighten me as to what your stubborn little teenage brain was thinking when you just waltzed into your Dom’s private office like you own the place? Hmm?” Mycroft stood up abruptly, making John take a step back for fear the man might come at him. John knew from the little fit he threw yesterday that Mycroft was no light weight.

“I…I’m sorry, sir,” John stuttered out, but continued to face the man. What ever happened that made Mycroft so angry, John would never back down, no matter how scared he was. Except, John realized, he had just apologized and was now baring his neck in submission to the Dom.

Immediately after seeing John’s display of fear and submission, Mycroft’s eyes softened. He rubbed his hands over his face and sighed loudly, then turned his gaze towards John. “My apologies, John,” he said sincerely, as he walked around his desk towards John.

The Sub backed up another step before Mycroft was right in front of him and grabbing hold of his arms. John froze, stiff as a board, when the tall Dom pulled him onto a hug. “It’s alright,” he assured the Sub, rubbing down his back and up to his nape. John finally started to relax in the hold after a few fruitless attempts to free himself. “I lost myself in my work for a moment. It won’t happen again, I promise.”

“What’s going on?” Sherlock asked just outside the room, three coats bundled in his arms.

“Sherlock, I need to talk to you in private for a moment,” Mycroft said, finally releasing John. “Can you behave yourself for five minutes unattended?” Mycroft asked, though this time it was with a lighter, perhaps even playful, tone.

“Yes, sir,” John nodded, still a touch afraid of the look he saw in Mycroft’s eyes when he looked up from his desk. Mycroft’s mouth tightened at the ‘sir,’ but he gave John a pat on the shoulder and led his brother into the room, closing the door behind them.

John sat on the couch, not willing to get himself into more trouble by wandering around. This wasn’t his house… _but it is._ John had never felt safer, or more loved than he did at 221B. John didn’t know what to say or do at this point. He didn’t think he had done anything wrong, but apparently he had. It was a pity he was never very good at walking on egg shells.

After five minutes of picking at the hem of his shirt, Sherlock and Mycroft emerged, both with expressions that frightened John.

“What happened?” John finally asked. _Did someone die? Oh my God…what if they’re sending me back to Addison…or my parents? I’ll run, I swear it, and they’ll never find me this time._ Sherlock tipped his head back, looking at the ceiling, while Mycroft had his hands on his hips, looking at John. “Please…” he whimpered, his eyes starting to fill with tears. “Please don’t send me back. I’m sorry I went into your office. Just, please, please don’t sell me.”

“No!” Sherlock shouted and ran over to sit next to John. He put his arm around the boy, which John found way too much comfort in. “No, John, this has nothing to do with you directly.”

“Okay,” John craned his neck up to look at Sherlock. “So, what happened? Can I help?”

Sherlock smiled at that and began petting his hair slowly. “Mycroft just got news from Greg –”

John’s heart sank. _No. Molly. Jim. What the fuck did he do to them?!_

“– Jim attacked him.”

“What?” John asked, pulling away from Sherlock to get a better look at the man. “Why?”

“It appears” Mycroft interjected, frustration clear in his voice, “the second generation collars have had some…unforeseen effects on the Subs’ brainstem. There have been five reports already of Subs with RDD and the collar attacking their Doms. Only one fatality, thank goodness.”

“What does that mean? What’s going to happen to Jim and the rest of the Subs?” John asked, his brow furrowing. John feared the worse; they would kill Jim and the Subs who attacked their owners. There was no way he was letting that happen.

“It means we are back to square one, now with bad press, law suits, and…” Mycroft looked down, his façade cracking just a bit to reveal sadness and fear. Looking at the man, John realized Greg was his lover.

“Is Greg okay?” John asked, feeling sympathy for the Dom. Mycroft only snapped at him because the Dom was so worked up about the news of his entire project going down the drain and concern for Greg.

“He is,” Mycroft nodded, but not giving further details.

“Both he and Jim are at hospital,” Sherlock added.

“What about Molly?”

“Anthea is bringing her over as we speak. I’ve already asked Mrs. Hudson to watch over her while we visit Greg. Although she said she wasn’t a babysitter, she agreed. We’ll stop at IBAD after to talk with Irene,” Mycroft nodded, then grabbed his coat.

“What about Jim? I want to see him too,” John said, standing up. He would be damned if Mycroft was going to lock away a fourteen year old for something his collar made him do.

Mycroft stared at him for a long moment, reading the young Sub. “Yes, I’m sure we will see him there as well.”

“Let’s go,” Sherlock said, grabbing John’s arms and pulling the jacket onto his small body.

_If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Please let Jim be alright. I guess let Greg be alright, too, so Jim doesn’t go to jail for killing someone._ This changed the game entirely. Now that the collars didn’t work, there was nothing to help the Subs with RDD. They would be executed, beaten, or worse. John had seen what Doms could do to Subs, and now the only glimmer of hope was taken away. They had to figure out how to fix these collars, even if John had to wear one himself.

                


	8. Fourteen Years (Part 1)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim's story from age 5 to 13.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! I hope you had a wonderful holiday season and a safe and fun new year!
> 
> Okay, so I was going through Guns n Roses songs and I saw one called fourteen years, and I said...hey! Jim is fourteen! So, I decided to show Jim's life and lead up to the point where he attacks Greg. Buuut, I tend to get out of hand sometimes and the story sort of turned into a fourteen thousand word chapter. So I'm breaking them in half and I will have part two posted on Wednesday. If you don't like Jim, I'm sorry for this story arc, if you do like Jim...you welcome :)
> 
> WARNING: Please check the updated tags! I am a horrible person...yeah, that should be a tag. I wanted to show how fucked up this AU is and to give a reason why Subs really need a revolt, or help, or something like that. Underage sex, drugged sex, child abuse...yeah, like I said, I'm a horrible person. Soo...enjoy! 
> 
> Also, as of right now this is unbeta'ed, but eventually I will re-post an edited version. Sorry for any mistakes.

Chapter 8 – Fourteen Years (Part 1)

            **Nine years ago**

Jim was asleep when he felt a strange tingly sensation running through his body. The warmth pooled at the back of his neck, just under his hair line. His eyes grew wide when it dawned on him. _I’m a Sub. No._

Quietly, Jim dropped out of his bunk bed, careful not to disturb Jake, the six year old boy below him who had presented as a Dom a couple months ago. His socks muffled his landing and thankfully, when Jim looked at Jake’s eyes, they were still closed. Tip toeing through rows of bunk beds with sleeping children on them, Jim finally made it to the bathroom.

He stepped up on the stool provided for the younger kids and looked at himself in the mirror. The mirror portrayed the same five year old it always had: short, greasy black hair, pale face, black eyes, and gaunt cheeks from malnourishment. He didn’t feel any different, but he knew once the orphanage staff found out he had presented as a Sub, they would put him up for auction. Everyone looked for a young Sub to train into an obedient pet for the rest of their lives.

_I have to leave,_ his young mind concluded. He didn’t have anything of value, but he knew he had to get out of these pajamas and into some street clothes if he was going to blend in. He wasn’t scared, he told himself, he was a big boy, even if he did need to cling his stuffed rabbit Hopper to his chest to fall asleep at night. When Jim turned around, he saw Danny Hall staring at him with sleepy but suspicious eyes. Jim immediately started rubbing the back of his neck for fear that he’d been found out already.

“What do you think you’re doing using my loo?” The twelve year old said. Jim was already small for his age, but the boy in front of him looked humongous. His little feet unconsciously moved back a few steps.  

“I was just…” Jim thought up a quick lie, “getting a drink of water. That’s all,” he said rubbing his neck furiously. His jerky movements caught the attention of the older boy, who narrowed his eyes and took two large steps towards Jim.

“What do you keep rubbing?” Danny asked in a rough voice. He grabbed Jim’s wrist and easily spun him around. “Ha ha!” the boy laughed, poking the little bump that had formed on Jim’s nape. The newly presented Sub winced at the little shock of electricity it sent through his body. “You’re in so much trouble! I’m telling Mr. Donald and he’ll take you where all the stupid little Subs go.”

“W-Where?” Jim asked, truly frightened.

“To the dungeon!” Danny exclaimed, “where they’ll beat you and beat you until you cry like a little baby.”

“No…please, Danny, don’t tell Mr. Donald. I just…I’ll leave and-and you’ll never have to see my stupid face again. I promise,” Jim pleaded, trying and failing to pull away from the bigger boy. The hand on his wrist brought back a strange feeling of numbness in his fingers when his mummy would pull him out from under the bed. It had hurt, but Jim was a big boy and didn’t cry.  

            “Yeah right,” he said, pushing Jim to the cold tile floor. “Now,” he prepared himself, widening his stance like he was going into a gun fight, “stay there and don’t move until I get back with Mr. Donald.” Jim felt a slight buzzing feeling on the back of his neck that he assumed was the bliss he’d heard about in health class. _This is bliss? I guess I’m supposed to do what he says, right?_

“Umm, okay,” Jim said meekly, but his confusion was clear on his young face.

“Ha! Stupid Subs,” Danny said, clearly pleased with his Domming abilities. The older boy left the room, leaving Jim their on the cold floor. After a minute, the realization hit him; _why am I just sitting here? I need to leave._

Jim stood up slowly, curious to see if the bliss he was given would stop him. Interestingly enough, he was fine; so, he made his way out of the bathroom and into the bedroom. He ran back to grab a few pairs of clothes and Hopper, ready to go, until he saw a light flash on him.

With wide dark eyes, Jim turned around to see Mr. Donald shining a torch right at him with Danny standing next to him. His little legs froze like a deer in headlights, waiting for the car to crash into him. “Jim,” Mr. Donald whispered, motioning him to come towards them.

Jim shook his head ‘no’ and clung to his rabbit tightly. The adult’s eyes narrowed sharply at being disobeyed by a five year old. “Jim, come here now,” he said a bit louder, waking half the kids in the orphanage. He could feel the man’s dominance float across the room, caressing the back of his neck and making Jim shiver, but not comply.

Making up his mind that it was now or never, Jim held on to Hopper tight and ran to the window two beds down. He got it open and had one leg out before two big hands came around his chest, hauling him back inside. His rabbit fell onto the grass, staring back at him with black stitched eyes and a bucktooth smile that Jim would never see again. “NO!” Jim squealed, fighting and kicking the best he could to get back to Hopper, to get to freedom.

Jim cried as Mr. Donald dragged him through the barracks, terrified at what was going to happen to him. He wasn’t necessarily happy at the orphanage, but, from what he’d heard from the bigger kids, it was much better than being auctioned off. All of the kids propped themselves up on their beds, watching as Jim was dragged away.

“Thank you, Danny. Get everyone back to bed, please,” Mr. Donald said to the smug looking boy at the door.

“Yes sir,” Danny said, sticking his tongue out at Jim.

“Please,” Jim whimpered when they made it to Mr. Donald’s office. “I didn’t do anything wrong, I swear.”

“I know son. Being a Sub is nothing to be ashamed of, but” he said, picking up the phone as he looked for a number to dial, “the orphanage has to stay in business somehow. We barely have any donors and you kids just keep piling in. Just look at it as you’re helping your friends by giving them a warm place to sleep and two meals a day.”

Jim hung his head low as he sat in the big chair across from Mr. Donald. He was so scared, and he didn’t have Hopper to hold to his chest so he could close his eyes and pretend this wasn’t happening.

“Yes. Yes, I have another one. Yes, James Moriarty. Five years old. Yes, he just presented tonight. You’ll send someone to pick him up? Whoa, whoa whoa, what do you mean £5000? He’s a white, five year old Sub who’s never had a Dom! The kid doesn’t have a mark on him! The lowest I can go is £9000. No, no, his parents aren’t going to come looking for him, they’re a couple of low lifes…hell, they might even be dead lying in a gutter somewhere-”

At that, Jim finally exploded. He had sat there listening to someone bargain for him like he was a piece of meat, but when someone insults his parents, that’s just too far. “Hey! Don’t talk about my parents that way! They’re coming to get me! You don’t even know!” Jim stood up, his hands tightening into little fists.

“Jim, sit down!” the Dom commanded, sending bliss towards the young boy, but Jim brushed it off easily. He continued to stand in defiance, defending his parents and their love for him, until Mr. Donald stood up to tower over Jim. The Sub flopped back down in his seat, cowering and pulling his knees to his chest.

Mr. Donald glared at him for a long moment, then held the phone back up to his ear. “Yeah, sorry about that. No, no, nothing’s wrong. So as I was saying, young James is a prime candidate for auction. Good, good, we’ll have him ready.”

Jim’s brow furrowed as he hugged his knees. He didn’t know why this was happening to him, he hadn’t done anything wrong! But maybe, he hoped, he would find a nice Dom who would take care of him like in the movies they got to watch on Fridays.

“Alright, Jim-bo, the auction workers will be here in a few minutes. Let’s get you outside, shall we.” The Dom had a smile on his face as he walked Jim to his doom. They stood outside in the cold until a white van showed up and a woman with an expressionless face led him into the back.

“Wh-Where are we going?” Jim asked tentatively.

“Sub’s don’t ask questions. It’s best you learn that now,” the woman said, not even looking at him.

Jim looked back down at his hands, clicking his feet together to get some warmth back in them. They had left in such a hurry that Jim was still in his thin pajamas and socks. Taking a deep breath, Jim tried to accept what was happening to him, because he wouldn’t cry, no, crying was for wimps…or at least that’s what his papa said to him after the Sub _accidentally_ fell to the floor when his papa threw things at him. Jim wasn’t a wimp.

The whole experience was a blur. Jim was led out of the van, brought into a building where he got to shower and change into a tan jumper and sweat pants. They put him in a room with a small bed, but it wasn’t too bad compared to sleeping on the floor at his old house. The door was locked from the outside and there were no windows, but that wasn’t such a bad thing, as it kept the cold air out of his room. Jim could do this. Yes, he could be a Sub.

The next day he and about twelve other Subs, ranging from his papa’s age to his own, were brought out into a long hallway. The only time Jim panicked was when a man started latching metal bands around the Subs’ necks and connected them to a chain on the wall.

Jim tried to back up and twist his neck to avoid the scary looking collar, but the man was more than twice as large as the Sub and easily grabbed his hair and locked the metal around his neck. The strange thing was though, Jim was the only who seemed to panic and struggle. The other Subs just stood there like zombies. _I don’t like this place._

Suddenly, the flood gates were opened and men and women started filling in, stopping at different Subs and examining them. Jim watched at Sub’s teeth, eyes, back, feet, and genitals were examined. The boy backed himself as far as he could against the wall, his eyes wide with fear.

He thought he would make it out without anyone looking at him, as it seemed most were looking at the teenage Subs; until, a man and woman stepped in front of him. Jim let out a terrified squeak and tried to curl in on himself. “Well aren’t you adorable,” the woman said, though Jim didn’t know if she was being nice; her smile wasn’t nice.

“And shy too,” the man confirmed, kneeling down to be eye level with Jim. “What’s your name,” the man said, projecting his dominance. Jim didn’t have to answer, but he thought it was best if he did.

“Jim,” he whispered meekly, looking up at the man through his lashes.

“Well, Jim, I’m Steven and this here is Amanda,” he pointed to the blonde lady behind him. “How would you like to come work for us?”

“What, erm…what do you do?” Jim asked, looking around nervously. There was something he didn’t like about these people. He couldn’t pinpoint it, but little bells kept going off in his head.

“Smart boy!” the woman said, her smile growing wider.

“We work for a company that makes people happy. And you, will be running errands, greeting people, and just being your cute little self,” the man said, poking Jim in the belly playfully.

Jim wanted to giggle, but stopped himself and settled for relaxing a tad. That didn’t sound so bad, hell, it might even be kind of fun. If he could make people happy, well then that had to be a good thing, right?

“O-Okay,” Jim said, a small smile coming to his face.

“Wonderful,” the man said, running a hand through Jim’s black hair. “You just wait here and we’ll get things squared away with the boss man.”

Jim let himself relax a little bit as he waited for the man and woman to come back. It wasn’t as bad as he thought it would be. These people seemed nice enough and now he wouldn’t have to put up with that jerk Danny always stealing his dinner rolls.

It didn’t take long before Jim was in the back seat on his way to his new… _job?_ They drove in silence, and Jim didn’t want to ruin it with stupid questions. The lady who brought him to the auction house had said Subs don’t get to ask questions after all.

When they arrived, Jim was shocked at how big the building was. ‘Dominic’s Pleasure Playground’ sat on top of the brick building in large red neon lights, casting an eerie glow on the wet pavement. Jim cocked his head, wondering who Dominic was and what kind of pleasure they were talking about. He had only been on a playground once, where his mum let him swing for a whole hour before they had to go home.

“Welcome home, Jim,” the man said, helping the Sub out of the car. He put a hand on Jim’s neck, stroking his thumb across the boy’s hairline. The act sent a shiver down Jim’s spine, making him wonder if that’s what bliss was supposed to feel like. The movie they made him watch in health class never really described ‘bliss,’ it only said that Subs were supposed to follow Dom’s orders because of the chemicals in their bodies. Whatever the case was, Jim really, really liked having the tall Dom’s warm hand on his neck.

Steven led him into the building, opening up the door for him and Amanda, but always keeping a calm hand on the back of Jim’s neck. “First things first,” Amanda said, “we need to get you cleaned and measured for tomorrow.”

“I’ll take him down,” Steve said, leading Jim farther into the room. The floor was a dark wood and the walls painted a deep color of red, reminding Jim of when he got a bloody nose last year from one of the big kids who wanted to rip Hopper’s head off; Jim wouldn’t let them touch his rabbit, and he got a broken bloody nose for his trouble. There was an area that had tables and a wall covered in bottles filled with brown and clear liquids. Jim still didn’t know what kind of place this was, but it didn’t seem too bad.

As they walked farther, Jim spotted a bunch of sofas lined up with green pillows spread out along the floor. There was a big stage with weird wooden, metal, and plastic structures scattered around.

Finally, after walking down a long hallway with about a dozen doors on either side, Jim arrived to a large white room that looked like a doctor’s office. “Here we are,” Steven said.

A doctor was examining a naked young woman who was strapped to the table and staring blankly up at the ceiling. “Oh, Steve, you found one at the auction?” she asked, looking down at Jim with a direct stare that made the young boy grab ahold of Steven’s leg.

“Yeah, this is Jim Moriarty, age five. Apparently they bought him from the orphanage, so he’s just bloomed.”

“Wonderful!” the woman said, but the excitement in her voice was counteracted by a pained moan coming from the woman on the table. “Hush Melanie, you’re fine,” she cooed to the lady.

Jim couldn’t take his eyes off the woman on the table. He had never seen a woman naked before, but the thing that concerned him the most was the look of fear in her eyes when she turned her head slightly to look at him. “Is she okay?” Jim whispered, looking up at Steven.

“Of course,” the man said, giving Jim’s neck a reassuring squeeze. “Dr. Arson here takes wonderful care of our Subs on staff.”

“Take off your clothes and sit up on this table for me, Jim,” Dr. Arson said, patting a metal table.

“My…My clothes?” he asked wearily. He had only ever been naked in front of people when he was forced to shower with the other boys at the orphanage, but that was a community shower and nobody was focused on him.

“It’s alright, Jim. Nothing she hasn’t seen before,” Steven said, grabbing hold of Jim’s jumper and pulling it over the Sub’s head.

“Hey!” the boy shouted, trying to pull away.

“Be still,” Steven commanded, sending wave after wave of bliss towards Jim, but the Sub could barely feel the tingling in his appendages.

“Get off me!” Jim whined, squirming when his shirt was ripped off.

“I said, be still, Sub,” Steven growled, angry that his command had not been followed the first time.

Jim immediately stilled, though more from fear of being punished than the strange buzzing at the nape of his neck. _Bliss, remember Jim, this is supposed to be bliss and I’m supposed to follow orders._

“Sorry,” Jim apologized, meekly, putting his head down and being still while Steven took off the rest of the Sub’s clothes.

“You’re alright. I understand you are new to this, but all you need to do is relax and listen to the Doms who work here, okay?”

“Okay,” Jim whispered, bringing his hands together in front of his exposed gentiles.

“And,” Steven said, pulling Jim’s hands away from his crotch and leading him over to the table, “you address all Doms as either ‘Sir’ or ‘Ma’am.” The Dom lifted Jim up, who barely stifled a squeak, and petted him on the head.

“Yes, sir,” Jim replied, starting to understand the dynamic a little better. Jim could be good if he knew the rules he had to follow.

“Good boy. Now, you behave for Dr. Arson while I get your quarters ready.”

The doctor smiled again at him and began inspecting the young Sub from head to toe. Jim was an ideal patient, save for when he wiggled and whined from having his bollocks and bum examined with more detail than he’d ever experienced. The woman even went as far as sticking her pinky finger inside Jim’s hole, looking for…well, Jim really had no idea what she was looking for, but it felt weird. But, instead of jumping off the table like he wanted to, Jim just squirmed a little and let the Dom do what she wanted with him. After all, she was a Dom and he was a Sub.

“Well you are a very healthy little Sub for living in an orphanage. We’ll get you on a carb and protein rich diet to put a little meat on your bones, though. Most clients like a little something to grab on to,” she said with a smile, but Jim didn’t know what she meant. All the young Sub heard was that he was going to get food, and hopefully he wouldn’t have to fight the other kids for it.

Jim let the doctor take a sample of his blood and he was proud of himself that he only cried a little, but he did wish Hopper was there with him to help make the pain go away. The Dom put her hand on his nape and projected some bliss to help him through it, but Jim just grimaced then smiled to let the doctor think she helped him. “Good boy,” she said, “here are some new clothes for you to wear.”

She set a pair of small red boxer briefs on the table next to Jim, who crinkled his brow. “Where’s the rest of it?” Jim asked, placing the new pants over his crotch.

The woman just laughed and went over to attend to the woman still tied to the table. “You’re new job is to make the customer’s visit more pleasurable. For now you are just eye candy and a drink runner, and for that, you only need those.”

“Oh,” Jim said, nodding his head in understanding even though he had no idea what was going on. _Why would someone get pleasure from looking at me in my pants? And why would they want someone naked to get their drinks?_

“Put them on before Steve gets back,” she warned, but said nothing else on the matter.

Jim pulled the pants on, which were ones size too small, but he was able to squeeze into them with a grunt. Not a minute later, Steven came back into the room, a pleased smile on his face. “All good then?” he asked.

“Yep, Jim here is ready for action,” the Doctor said as she inspected something between the restrained woman’s legs.

Jim was becoming very uncomfortable watching, so he was more than happy that Steven showed up when he did.

“That’s good to hear. Come with me, Jim, I’ll introduce you to your room mate.” The Dom put his hand on Jim’s nape again as they walked down the hallway. Jim tried not to lean closer to the man because he was afraid he would stop if he did. Suddenly, breaking him out of the closes state of bliss he’d ever been in, a high pitched scream came from one of the rooms.

“What was that?!” Jim asked. He knew the difference between screams; he had heard enough of them in the orphanage and at home. There was a scream from pain, fear, sorrow, and worst of all, or at least what Jim thought was worst, was a scream from anger. He had heard that many times from his father, though it turned more into a growl than a scream. But this scream stemmed from pure agony.  

“Oh, don’t worry about that. You’ll get used to it,” Steven said, unperturbed as he led Jim downstairs.  Jim looked over his shoulder, peering back at the doors where sounds of screams and grunts echoed from.

When they arrived in the basement, the screams could still be heard from the upper floor. Jim cringed as he was led to his room, hoping he wouldn’t have to listen to those noises for the rest of his life. Steven opened the door and pushed Jim inside with a firm pat to the bum. “This is Jamie,” he pointed to the girl sitting on one of two beds in the room. She looked about fifteen or so, with long strawberry blonde hair and blue eyes that lacked any spark of life. Jim immediately put his hands in front of his crotch, which was barely covered by the red material. “She’ll be your roommate until we get someone closer to your age. Unless you turn thirteen before that happens, then you’ll be put in the older boy’s dormitory.”

Jim looked around the room, noting a small twin bed with blue sheets, a desk for each of them with a lamp perched on top, and a dresser. There was a sink with a blue toothbrush, toothpaste, and mouthwash. “Say hello to Jim, Jamie,” Steve commanded, filling the room with bliss.

The girl looked up at him with a dazed smile. “Hi Jim,” she said automatically, then went back to reading the beat up paperback in her hands.

“Hi,” Jim murmured meekly, lifting his hand in a small wave.

“The bathroom is down the hall,” Steven said, stepping outside the room, “but your rooms are locked from the outside, so you will need to press the green button over there and a Dom will take you to the restroom. You are not to go upstairs after curfew unless you have a client; in which case one of the staff will escort you from A to B. Breakfast is at six. Jamie will show you where the cafeteria is in the morning. I’ll take you to fitting afterwards so we can get you ready for the rush. If you have any questions just ask Jamie or one of the Doms.”

“Yes, sir,” Jim said, happy that he remembered he was supposed to call Steven Sir.

“Good boy,” he patted Jim’s head and sent out a little bliss, though Jim just shrugged it off.

Steven closed the door, leaving Jim alone with the girl who looked like a zombie. “So, umm, is the food good here?” Jim asked because he had no idea what he was supposed to do.

The girl didn’t look up at him, but she glanced at the clock on the wall as if she was waiting for something. Jim shrugged and went to sit on his bed, relishing the smoothness of the sheets. “Wow, this is really nice!” Jim said, excited that he had hit the jackpot. “How long have you been here?” Jim asked her.

She finally looked at him, shocking Jim as her eyes appeared different somehow. There was a spark in the light blue eyes, like cobalt set ablaze.

“Five years,” she said, putting her book down and falling gracefully to the ground to peer under her bed. Jim watched, arching his neck to see what she was doing. With a soft ‘a ha,’ Jamie pulled out two pieces of metal: one shaped like an ‘L’ while the other was straight with little waves along one edge.

“What are those?” Jim asked, standing up and letting his curiosity get the better of him. The man who ran the boy’s house at the orphanage said that someday it was going to bite Jim in the bloody arse, but Jim didn’t care, he wanted to know.

She grinned up at him. “Watch and learn kid,” she said, walking to the door and testing the knob. It was locked, of course it was, they didn’t want anyone wondering around and getting hurt, Jim knew. But Jamie seemed unperturbed and set to work sticking the pieces of metal this way and that inside the lock, until a small click could be heard.

“Are you hungry?” she asked, looking back at Jim with those fiery eyes.

“We can’t go out there,” Jim said, panicked, “if the Doms catch us we’ll get in trouble.”

“They have to catch us first. And trust me, they won’t; I know this place like the back of my hand,” she said with a sly grin.

“But…” Jim said, looking down at himself and biting his lip at his nakedness.

“Look, I can tell you have RDD,” Jamie said, walking over to Jim and kneeling before him. The girl was only dressed in a red sports bra and black pants, and Jim was sure his ears turned pink in embarrassment. _Wait…What?_ Jim was stunned out of his bashful moment and peered inquisitively up at Jamie.

“I have what?”

“RDD, receptor deficiency disorder.  You know, you can’t feel bliss.”

“That’s…that’s actually a thing?” Jim asked, his eyes growing wide. He wasn’t sure if he was some kind of freak, or if bliss just wasn’t all it was cracked up to be.

“Yeah, stupid,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But you can’t let any of the staff know. If they found out that some of us Subs can actually think for ourselves and don’t live off of every word they say, they’d send us off to the pound.”

“The pound?”

“Jeez, kid, where did you come from? Yeah, the pound, the place where they eutha- eutha- erm, eutha something, but it means they give you this shot that puts you to sleep and you never wake up.”

“I…I don’t want that,” Jim cried, shaking his head as he tried to stop his lip from trembling. He could be good. He was good. He was a good boy.

“Hey, hey,” she said, her eyes softening a bit as she realized how young Jim actually was. “You’ll be okay, I promise. Just stick with me and keep your head down when the Doms are around. Now come on, let’s go get a late night snack, shall we.”

“O-Okay,” Jim nodded, wiping the stupid tears that escaped his lids and ran down his cheek.

Jamie held Jim’s hand as she led him down the hallway and unlocked another door with her two metal sticks. “What are those?” Jim whispered.

“Lock picks,” she said, “got them from a guard who just wanted a stupid blowjob for them.”

“A blowjob?” Jim asked, as they made their way up the stairs, avoiding any Doms.

“Umm, never mind,” she said, her eyes turning sad as she looked at Jim for a moment, before focusing on their task. “Okay, here comes the fun part.” Without another word, she jumped against the wall, planting her foot, and catapulted herself up to a vent that easily came loose when she pulled on it. She wiggled up into the ceiling and peered down at Jim when she was safe. “Come on, I’ll help you up shorty,” she giggled, but leaned half her body down and extended an arm.

Jim looked around cautiously. He could hear two people coming down the adjacent hallway, sending a spark of panic through him. It was now or never. And he was a brave boy. Jim stood underneath the vent and jumped as high as he could, holding out his arm for Jamie to latch on to.

The other Sub caught Jim’s hand on the second try and lifted him easily up into the vent. “Nicely done,” she praised, “but damn, you need to get some meat on your bones. I lifted you with one arm.”

They made a few turns inside the vent, completely confusing Jim of where they were at. Finally, they hopped down into another hallway with doors lining the sides. Jamie motioned for Jim to follow, but the scream coming from the door right next to him, stopped the young Sub in his tracks.

This time, curiosity didn’t pay off. Jim slowly opened the door that led to the screams and wails. Blood drained from Jim’s entire body, leaving him cold and sweaty. His brain seemed to shut down at the sight he saw before him.

A black boy in his young teens was being held to the bed by a hand on his neck and a large man sitting on his hips. They were both naked and the older man seemed to be thrusting his hips into the boy, and every forward movement was met with a muffled scream from the Sub. The man was panting and whispering something into the boy’s ear as he smacked his bum harder than Jim had ever seen.

There was a shrill cry when the man finally jolted himself forward to lie over the kid’s body. Jim couldn’t even see the Sub anymore underneath the big man. As blood started to flood Jim’s mind again, he was about to run and help the other Sub, but he was pulled back by a strong hand and the door was shut.

“What the fuck are you doing? Are you trying to get us caught?” Jamie whispered harshly. She grabbed both Jim’s shoulders and stared at him, fear and anger pooling in her deep blue eyes.

“I…I…What was that?” Jim asked, his voice quivering.

Jamie sighed and looked back at the door with disgust. “Let’s get some food, get back to the room, and then we can talk about it. Just...” she sighed again, “just don’t leave my sight.”

Jim nodded his head, terrified and confused at what he had just seen, and guilty at not following Jamie’s orders. For the rest of their little mission, Jim clung to the older Sub. They dropped down from a second vent to land in a huge kitchen. The young Sub was so overwhelmed he had no idea what to pick, so Jamie just rolled her eyes and grabbed him some kind of chocolate protein bar and a blueberry flavored yogurt.

They made it back in one piece, and Jim ignored the howls coming from the rooms. It wasn’t until they arrived back at their room, locked the door, and sat next to each other on Jamie’s bed eating yogurt, did the eldest Sub break the silence. “You’ll be okay for a good long while here, Jim. You’re only five, and I’ve never seen them promote a kid who wasn’t in their teens.”

“Promote a kid?” Jim asked, scraping the bottom of the container. He would have to be sure and find more yogurt if Jamie took him to the cafeteria again. _This stuff is amazing!_

“Even though they call this place a pleasure playground, it is really just a brothel.”

“A what?”

Jamie sighed, letting her head thud back against the wall. “Doms come here to control, fuck, and punish Subs. Whatever their sick fantasy that they can’t do to their own Sub, or if they don’t have one, they come here and pay to do it to one of us.”

Jim looked at her, confused. He had heard the big boys talking in the shower about ‘fucking’ Subs, but honestly he had no idea what it meant. By the way that Jamie was talking about it though, it must have been a very bad thing. And, if that’s what that man was doing to the young Sub in that room, well it must be pretty painful too.     

“So…”

“We are whores, Jim, but we don’t even get the money afterwards. Hell, we don’t even get the good food, we have to steal it!”

“Whores?”

Jamie sighed again and pushed Jim off her bed. “You’ll learn soon enough. But remember, when the staff give you an order, you act like they blissed you up and you follow it. They have to think that you can be controlled, or else it’s the shot for you.”

“O-Okay,” Jim nodded quickly. He didn’t want the shot, no sir. And he could pretend, it would be easy; all he had to do was follow orders, how hard could that be?

Life as a ‘whore,’ as Jamie called it, wasn’t so bad. All he had to do was walk around in his pants and bring people drinks. Sometimes they would pick him up and hold them on their laps, or kiss his hair, and once a woman kissed his tummy. Overall though, Jim thought he could do this. When a staff member or a customer who was a Dom told him to do something, he did it, easy as that. There was never any ‘bliss,’ hell, Jim was convinced there was no such thing.

Jamie taught him the ins and outs of the entire building, how to pick locks like his life depended on it, and what Subs he could trust and who was ‘up the boss’s arse and couldn’t be trusted to bring you a glass of water.’

Sometimes Jamie would come back to the room with bruises or cuts, though she would never tell Jim how she got them. Jim would sneak into medical and grab her ointments, then go to the cafeteria and bring her her favorite banana strawberry yogurt. He noticed, though faint, that the electric blue eyes she possessed slowly faded to a dull matted blue as years passed.

He got used to the screams and moans he heard behind closed doors every day. Perhaps he was in denial, hey, _you do what you gotta do to get through the day, right?_ So he ignored them, and hoped he would never half to hear those screams coming from his throat.

Then, when Jim turned ten, he came back to the room to find it empty. He asked the Doms what had happened to his friend, his only friend, but they refused to answer him and locked the door behind him. Jim had the room to himself until he turned thirteen.

Jim had noticed as he got older, how more of the clients would touch him or grab his hips and hold him on their laps. They would put their hands right on his crotch, and no matter how much Jim squirmed at the uncomfortable contact, the Doms would just hold him tighter.

When he turned thirteen, however, everything changed. Steven came into his room, though it was an hour past curfew. “Jim, Mr. Dominic would like to see you.”

Jim’s eyes grew wide. He had heard whispers about the owner of the Playground, but had never seen the man in real life. _Oh shit. Am I in trouble?_ “I didn’t do anything,” Jim defended himself before he was accused.

“No, no,” Steven said, a strange smile on his face, “you just turned thirteen yesterday, correct?”

“Yes, sir,” Jim said. He had stolen a whole loaf of his favorite bread to celebrate.

“Well it’s time for your…initiation,” he said, putting his hand on Jim’s neck as they walked down the hallway. The Sub was in a pair of black pants, but he was so used to being half naked, it didn’t bother him anymore. “Mr. Dominic insists upon breaking in all new Subs who are ready for a promotion.”

“A promotion?” Jim said, allowing himself to smile a little. He liked his job fine enough, but a promotion! _Wow!_

“Yep,” the Dom said, stopping at a door and knocking three times.

“Come in,” a voice said from inside the room.

Steven opened the door, pushed Jim inside, and closed it behind him. Panicked, Jim turned around and tried to open the door, but found it was locked. He started pulling on the knob when he heard a deep voice chuckle. “There is no need to be afraid, little one,” a man said.

Jim slowly turned around to find himself in a huge suite complete with an abnormally large bed, bathtub, and kitchen. Two men and a woman were lying on the bed and a man and a woman sat at a dinner table with glasses of white wine. With wide eyes, Jim tried to figure out what was about to happen to him. _Perhaps it is just an interview?_

“You’re Jim Moriarty, yes?” the man sitting at the table asked. He wasn’t fat, but the man was large, with a barrel chest and thick arms. The other men sitting on the bed were close to the same, but much fatter. The woman though, were rather petite, but still taller than Jim.

“Y-Yes, sir,” Jim said, keeping his back against the door.

“Good, very, good,” the man said. “I’m Mr. Dominic, and these are my friends: Mrs. Fallhorn, Mrs. Green, Mr. Harp, and Mr. Verne. It has come to our attention, via the records department, that you have just turned thirteen.”

Jim nodded his head, not sure as to why that was such a big deal.

“Good, do you know what that means?”

“No, sir.”

A wicked, predator like smile came to all of the Dom’s faces, making Jim feel like the prey with its leg caught in a trap. “It means, that you are now available for the more…intimate play, and you will be able to pay back the Playground for taking such good care of you.”

“O-Okay,” Jim’s eyes shifted quickly between the Doms, still unclear as to what he was doing here.

“As the owner of Dominic’s Pleasure Playground,” he said, standing up and walking towards Jim, “I take it upon myself to test a new Sub’s skill set to ensure our customers will be satisfied.”  

“Sir, I-”

The man hushed him with a hand, then offered the glass of pale yellow liquid, pressing it to Jim’s lips.

“No thank you,” Jim tried to say around the glass.

“Drink it,” the Dom commanded, emitting his bliss to control the situation.

Jim didn’t know what to do. This was the first time he’d ever really wanted to deny an order, but Jamie’s words echoed in the back of his mind. He didn’t want to be sent to the kennels just because he didn’t want any wine. So, being a good Sub, Jim drank the sweet yet bitter liquid until the glass was empty.

“Good boy,” Mr. Dominic said, grabbing the back of Jim’s neck to lead him to the bed. Jim immediately dug his heals in, resulting in the hand squeezing tighter, making Jim lift his shoulders from the pain. “On the bed, now.”

Jim hesitantly crawled onto the huge bed, letting the other Doms cage him in with their bodies. When one of the men, Mr. Harp, Jim remembered, started rubbing Jim’s naked chest, and Mrs. Green grabbed the elastic of his pants, Jim shot up to stand on the bed.

“Wh-What’s going on?”

The Doms just laughed at the boy, then grabbed his feet and pulled them out from under him. Mr. Dominic had somehow shed his shirt and trousers and was crawling up the bed towards Jim. The young Sub was shaking uncontrollably when the huge Dom hovered over him and bent down to whisper in his ear. “We are going to fuck you, Jim. Now be a good boy and roll over on your stomach. Don’t worry about being quiet though,” he said, grabbing Jim’s pants and scooting them off, “the room is sound proof, and my guests and I rather like it when you scream. Now,” he commanded, sending out waves of thick bliss, “roll over.”

Jim’s eyes grew wide. The sound that came from behind the doors, the sounds that haunted him every night, the sounds that were a warning that Jim ignored, the sounds…the sounds that he was about to make behind closed doors. Without thinking, Jim slammed his knee up, nailing the Dom right in the crotch. He yelped, giving Jim enough time to jump past the shocked Doms kneeling on the bed.

“You little,” Mr. Dominic growled, standing up and cradling his gentiles.

Jim had made his way over to the table and grabbed a sharp steak knife. He didn’t have his lock picks with him, so the young Sub had no idea how he was going to make it out of this room.

“How did he do that?” Mrs. Green asked, confused and appalled at Jim’s behavior.

“You put that knife down right now, young man!” Mr. Verne commanded, but Jim shook it off easily. He was outing himself by denying their bliss, but there was no way in hell that he was going to put down his only weapon in a room full of Doms who wanted to hurt him.

“F-Fuck off,” Jim heard himself say, though it sounded more like Jamie’s words than his. Well, the girl had practically raised him, so it was no wonder he had inherited her potty mouth.

Mr. Dominic stared at Jim for a moment, then, as if realization hit him, the Dom smiled. “You have RDD, don’t you boy?”

Jim didn’t answer, only gripped the knife tighter and steeled himself for what was to come.

“Damn,” Dominic said, walking towards Jim, “a Sub who can’t follow orders is no use to me. However,” he said, as the other two men started to flank Jim on both sides, “I suppose I’ll have to send you to the kennels; there goes another investment. But, I did promise my friends here a nice night.” His voice was accusing, like it was Jim’s fault he wouldn’t let them fuck him.

Suddenly, Jim was grabbed from both sides, and hauled into the air. He screamed and dropped the knife, kicking out as his last line of defense. “Lucky I brought a little something to help you cooperate, hmm?” He held up a syringe and began walking towards Jim. “For most Subs bliss is enough, but every so often I get a troublemaker like you.”

Jim screamed like he had been shot when the needle pierced his naked bum. _No. No, oh dear God, no!_ “That Madison girl was the same, wasn’t she?” he asked one of the women.

“Yes, Jamie I think her name was. She didn’t put up a fight until she was quite a bit older though,” the woman nodded her head solemnly.

Within a minute, Jim’s world became fuzzy. His head was filled with cotton as they placed him on the bed, belly down. “It’s a shame it had to go this way. I think I would have rather liked to fuck him while he struggled,” Dominic said nonchalantly.

Jim mumbled something into the pillow when he felt someone prodding at his bum. “He’s still half awake though, isn’t he?” another man said. “Just calmer?”

“I suppose so,” Dominic said, then Jim felt the most horrible pain he had ever felt in his life. It was burning and stretching and pressure and a God awful fullness that made Jim jolt once against the drugs keeping him compliant. “Hmm, I guess he does feel it.”

After a few more moments of the searing pain and the low chuckles behind him, Jim passed out. He woke up in increments, hearing laughing and other weird noises akin to squishing. The pain stayed though, coursing through his body, making the Sub wish he had bliss, wish the Doms could take away the pain. For the first time in Jim’s short life, he wished that he would be taken to the kennels and given the shot, then maybe the cruel laughs and the grotesque large mass filling his mouth wouldn’t haunt his every waking moment.  Jim’s eyes closed and he waited for the five Doms to finish with him.

“You’re not even worth the petrol it takes to drive you to the kennels,” he heard, just before his body slammed into something hard and cold. A rank smell filled his nose and soon enough, he blacked out again.

The next time Jim woke up, it was to a pair of blue eyes and scraggily blond hair. “Hey…hey, mate, are you okay?”

“He’s dead, Johnny. Good Lord, look at him. I’ve never seen ‘em that messed up before,” another voice said.

“He’s alive, Harry, I can see his back moving. Here, help me get him up, we’ll take him back to the Pipes.”

Jim groaned as he was picked up, two hands under his armpits and two at his feet. He was carried for what seemed like forever, then he was put down on something hard but warm and covered up by a thick blanket. “You’re okay, mate. You’re safe here. Just rest,” the male’s voice said, as a hand rubbed through his sweaty hair. Perhaps it was the drugs still flowing through his system, or the fact that the cool hand on his head felt so lovely, but Jim fell back into the darkness of sleep and the cruel laughs filled his nightmares as if happening anew.

             


	9. Fourteen Years (Part 2)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim life in his fourteenth year.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello hello again! 
> 
> Here is part two of Fourteen Years. It is much easier to read, or at least I think so, than part one. The next chapter is going to go back to normal with John's POV taking up the majority of the story while Mycroft and Sherlock try to figure out what happened to Jim. Sorry for this interlude of sorts, I just got carried away a bit...it happens :) 
> 
> Thank you a million times over to TPurr for editing this chapter!

Chapter 9 – Fourteen Years (Part 2)

Jim woke up with a start. He shot up, trying to escape the man sitting on his back and pressing into him. When his eyes opened and all he saw were three teenagers sitting around a fire, Jim realized he wasn’t at the Playground.

“Oh, you’re awake!” the boy with the blond hair said. He looked about Jamie’s age when they first met, maybe 15 or 16. The girl next to him was maybe a year or two older, but the serious scowl on her face made her look in her twenties. The last boy, who was maybe Jim’s age, looked over at him shyly though his glasses. The older boy got up and ran over to him, kneeling down next to the pile of blankets Jim was laying on. “How are you feeling?”

“Umm, okay, I guess,” Jim said, though his bum, hips, and jaw hurt something terrible.

“Good, good,” the boy said, “my name is John, and that’s my sister Harry, and that little guy is Mike.” He pointed over to the kids by the fire.

“Hey!” the boy named Mike exclaimed indignantly at being called ‘little.’

John just grinned and looked expectantly back at Jim. “Oh, umm, yeah, my name is Jim,” he said. He wanted to give in to the warmth of the blankets around him, the kindness in John’s eyes, but he couldn’t. Jim stayed on alert as he sat there, realizing someone had dressed him. He looked down at the oversized t-shirt and looked under the blankets to see a pair of baggy khaki trousers.

John chuckled shyly. “Yeah, sorry about that; we couldn’t find any clothes small enough to fit you, but next time we go out scouting we’ll get you some proper wears.”

“Th-Thanks, but you don’t have to. I should be on my way, anyways,” Jim said, embarrassed and angry and so many emotions that he couldn’t even name filled his body.

“No!” John said, panic clear in his features. “I umm, well, you see, I cleaned you up a bit when we found you, and I…well, kinda noticed a lot of…open wounds in a place that could easily get infected.”

Jim’s lips started to tremble uncontrollably. He couldn’t help it. For eight years he had learned how to be tough, ignore the screams, ignore the nagging feeling that something wasn’t right, run away, hide, pretend. Now, a strange boy was telling him his arse had been ripped to shreds by three grown men. _Talk about a fucking eye opener_.

“We started you on some antibiotics we stole from a pharmacy a couple of weeks ago. They should take care of any potential infections. So you should stay with us, at least until the two week course is up.”

“O-Okay,” Jim mumbled, because he did want to stay with them. They were the first people who had ever seemed to have his best interest at heart. But, Jim knew, he couldn’t trust them fully, couldn’t turn his back just yet, because if there was one thing he’d learned, it was that everyone was out for themselves.

“Good,” John sighed in relief. “We just heated up some beans. Would you like some?”

“Umm,” Jim felt the dryness in his mouth and there was some God awful aftertaste that probably made his breath smell rank. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

Jim stayed with the Watsons and Mike for two weeks. Even though the other Subs seemed great and took care of each other, Jim just didn’t feel like he belonged. The day before he planned on leaving, they went to an auction house to scope out the area and see if they could free any Subs.

It was then that Jim’s heart found out what true love was. He held the small girl in his arms as he ran as fast as he could away from the building. Her eyes were glazed over, but she huddled into his warmth as they made their way back to the pipes. Swaddling her up in a wool blanket, Jim held her close the entire night until she woke from her bliss induced state.

 “What’s your name, sweetheart?” Jamie had called him that so many times he couldn’t count, and it made him feel special each and every time.

“Molly,” she whispered, her eyes filling up with tears of fear and uncertainty.

“I’m Jim,” he said softly, in a tone he didn’t know he had. It was the closest thing to a father’s voice as he could get without ever experiencing it himself. “And this is John, and Harry, and that little guy is Mike.”

“Hey!” Mike shouted from over by the fire.

Everyone laughed, and the small little giggle coming from the bundle of blankets in his arms set Jim’s heart on fire and stirred something in his belly that made him want to murder anybody who ever threatened this girl.

So Jim stayed with John. He knew this was the best way to protect Molly, to give her a better life than he had. John grew on him too. The angry blond boy would sit for hours with Jim explaining why they didn’t need Doms and why it was best for them to survive on their own. Eventually, John made his way under Jim’s skin and past the walls he had insisted on building up around himself. _Sometimes, walls are the only way to protect yourself._  

Jim went along with the group though. He found a pair of lock picks and aided his friends in gathering food and supplies to sustain themselves without the help of Doms. Jim liked that part of it; no Doms, no reminder that he was fucked up and couldn’t feel bliss, no reminder of getting… _raped…_ taken advantage of. He didn’t need a Dom, Jim finally concluded on his adventures with John, Harry, Mike, and Molly. They could take care of themselves. So, under John’s tutelage, Jim forgot his dreams of a kind Dom taking care of him and decided he never needed bliss.

Then, two days after Jim’s fourteenth birthday, John and Molly were taken from him. He watched as John was cornered by both the scary Doms. He didn’t know what to do! In the end, he panicked and told himself it was best to live to fight another day. Jim ran back to the pipes and started devising a plan to get back the only people he really cared about. It was hard, but the young Sub took over the leadership role when none of the other Subs wanted to. He was responsible for them now, and Jim would protect them, just like John did.  

John had betrayed him. Jim had come up with a wonderful plan to get his friend back, and then John betrayed him by bringing the Doms with him. He was sure the blond Sub had been brainwashed by those stupid arseholes, but he couldn’t forgive John for turning them over to IBAD.

He stood on the street, the gun he’d stolen from a police officer trained on the ginger haired man and a gun pointing straight at him by a grey haired officer. Jim almost gave in, almost followed John into the abyss, but when the Dom tried to command him to put the gun down, Jim snapped.

The whole thing was a blur. He squeezed the trigger twice, his eyes closed, then he was being tackled to the ground by a large man. Jim struggled and growled under the grey haired man, but he might as well have been drugged. He was held down easily, just like he was a year ago, making Jim squeeze his eyes together and brace for impact. “I-I’m sorry,” he whispered through gritted teeth.

“Hey, you’re alright, lad, you’re alright,” the man cooed down at him, grabbing Jim’s chin and forcing the Sub to look at him.

Jim’s eyes were bright red with tears pooling at the sides as he stared up at large brown ones. With a reassuring smile that didn’t seem possible after what he’d just done, the man pulled Jim up, placed handcuffs on him, and put him in the back of a police car.

Jim watched as John and the red haired man were pulled out of the Thames, their loved ones fussing over them. He smiled despite having just shot someone, which would most likely end with him getting the shot; but, it was nice to see that John had someone to look after him now, and he hoped Molly had the same.                     

Jim was brought in to a large facility that looked like it was half hospital, half science lab. They ran tests on his blood, eyes, motor skills, and receptor, then asked him a million questions about where he came from, but he wouldn’t tell them a thing. It was none of their business, especially if they were planning on sending him to the kennels.

One thing Jim found quite strange was that the grey haired man who tackled him to the ground was there for every test and every question, sitting silently in the background, staring at Jim. It made the young Sub feel strange. He didn’t like when a Dom was just focused on him, it always meant bad things…but, something inside his belly craved it, needed it.

They diagnosed Jim with RDD and placed him in a hospital bed with a steady IV drip, as the doctor said he was extremely dehydrated and malnourished. Jim lay there for what seemed like forever, thoughts of Molly and John floating around in his head, driving him crazy.

His heart stopped, thinking it was the end, when both the red haired Dom and the grey haired Dom came into his room. Jim’s eyes grew wide and he pulled the blanket up a little farther on his chest.

“Jim,” Red greeted, his arm held tight to his chest by a sling and his steely blue eyes piercing straight through any kind of wall Jim had created. To be honest though, Jim sucked at creating walls, he just wasn’t built that way…but he sure as hell tried. “I’m Mycroft Holmes and this is DI Greg Lestrade,” he said, motioning to Grey.

Jim just stared at them, wide eyed. He had no idea what to do! John was their leader and it had been so hard without him, especially now that he was cornered by two scary as hell Doms. Plus, Jim had shot one of them. He didn’t mean to hurt anyone, he really didn’t, but he was just so scared and angry at being betrayed by John. He could understand those Doms at the Playground betraying him…but John?

“You don’t need to be scared of us,” Greg said, taking a step closer to the end of Jim’s bed and placing his hand on the boy’s foot. Jim jerked away on instinct. A Dom hadn’t touched him since his time at the Playground. He pulled his knees up to his chest, using them as a physical barrier since his mental ones seemed to be crashing down by the two Doms’ presence.

Mycroft seemed to be all business as he pulled out a manila folder and began reading the contents. “James Isaac Moriarty, auctioned off at St. Bernadine’s Auction House at age 5, bought by Dominic’s Pleasure Playhouse where you spent eight years as a Sub, disappeared from their roster at age 13, and then, you completely disappeared with John Watson’s group of homeless Subs. Is this correct?”

“If that’s what the paper says, then I’m sure it’s correct,” Jim said, having learned his snark from the time he’d spent with John.

Mycroft offered him a tight lipped smile, but Greg’s eyes seemed to soften. Jim didn’t like it, didn’t like pity; it was just evidence that something bad happened to him that needed to be pitied.

“I see, well, it has also come to our attention that you were responsible for liberating young Miss Hooper from the Carmike Auction House, yes?”

Jim stared at the man for a second, biting his lip. _Should I tell them? Molly or John probably already did, but I can’t confirm it. It will just affirm that Molly is an illegal Sub._ Jim just looked off to the side, ignoring the question.

Mycroft sighed heavily. “Tell me,” he commanded, his tone low and imperious. Jim felt the strongest wave of bliss he’d ever felt in his entire life. The Doms at the Playground were nothing compared to this man.

“I…I,” Jim ducked his head in defeat, “yeah, I did.” Surprisingly, Greg smiled a bit at Jim’s confession. “Where is she? Is she okay?”

“She’s just fine, Jim. She’s living with me, right now and she’s quite safe,” Greg said, his eyes genuine.

Jim blushed under the man’s gaze, feeling all the attention on him. He didn’t like it, he really didn’t.

“Well, Jim, it appears you have an extensive record, what with theft, arson, kidnapping, and now attempted murder-”

“I didn’t mean to!” Jim heard himself saying. He wanted to be a good boy, but he was failing at it miserably. “Please, don’t send me to the kennels, Mr…Mr. Holmes.”

“No, no, no,” Greg said, coming to sit by Jim’s side, “we’re not sending you to the pound, Jim. What Mycroft is trying to say, rather poorly I might add,” Greg said, glaring back at the injured Dom. “Is that you are the perfect candidate for an experimental trial we are conducting. You see,” he said, putting his hand on Jim’s blanket covered knee. Jim winced, but let the hand stay, enjoying the warmth permeating through his body. “Mycroft’s team has discovered a way to help Subs with RDD to feel bliss. They have created a collar that will allow you to feel bliss when commanded by your Dom.”

“You…want me to…what?”

“You will be fitted with a collar,” Mycroft interjected, “it will be programmed to activate to a certain set of Doms, including me and Mr. Lestrade.”

“So…I’ll be able to feel bliss? Actual Bliss?” Jim’s heart leapt at the idea. John always preached about how much they didn’t need Doms and how bliss was over rated, but Jim always fell asleep at night to thoughts of having a Dom put him down into subspace. But, that’s how you get hurt, John would tell him, and Jim just had to think about the fingers digging into his hip bones to remember how right the older Sub was.

“Yes,” Greg said.

“And if I say no?”

Mycroft lifted an eyebrow and continued to stare at Jim the way one would observe a puppy with an attitude problem (his look also said he could handle said puppy without breaking a sweat). “Then you will be charged with an assassination attempt on the owner of IBAD and Sub Research facilities, arson, theft, and any other charge I find you guilty of.”

“Mycroft!” Greg snapped, looking back at the other man and tightening his grip on Jim’s knee. The two men shared a stern conversation with just their eyes while Jim lay there awkwardly.

Mycroft finally sighed, apparently giving into the other Dom. “It would be in your best interest to accept our offer, Jim. Subs are not meant to go through this world without bliss. Please,” he said, tilting his head slightly forward, “allow us to help you, Jim.”

With a deep breath, Jim closed his eyes and nodded his head. When he opened them, there was a third person in the room. A tiny little girl let out a high pitched squeal and was leaping onto the bed before Jim could even process what just happened. “Molly!”

“Jim!” she shouted, laying her entire body over Jim’s, tucking her head underneath his chin.

“Molls, be careful,” Greg chuckled, placing a hand on her back as she hugged Jim to the point of suffocation.

“Are you okay?” he whispered into her ear, holding on to her little body for dear life. She was the only innocent thing he had ever seen in this world, and he would be damned if someone tried to taint her.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine,” she nodded, finally looking up at him with her wide brown eyes. “This is Greg! I told him all about you!” she said, as if just remembering there were other people in the room. She sat up and scooted over to sit in his lap, snuggling up to him the same way she had done to Jim. Greg smiled and planted a kiss on the top of her head before fixing his gaze back to Jim.

“Jim, once you get your new collar and everything goes okay for the next couple of weeks…” he stopped and looked once more up at Mycroft. “You can come and stay with me and Molly…if you want to, that is.”

“Yeah!” Molly shouted, looking up at Greg like he was the greatest person in the world. “Come on, Jim. Say yes!”

“That’s his decision sweetheart,” Greg told her, patting her tummy. Greg must have seen the unsure look in Jim’s eyes, because he smiled again and stood up with Molly in his arms. “You don’t have to answer right now, Jim.”

Jim nodded, thankful for the Dom’s words. He had just made the decision to wear a collar that will give him bliss, and now a Dom wants him to move in with him. _Holy shit!_

“Bye Jim! Bye My!” Molly said from Greg’s arms. She straddled his hip and looped her arms around his neck, while he placed a hand under her bum and behind her back. Mycroft nodded his head to the little girl, but said nothing more.  

“Bye Molly,” Jim waved, unable to wipe the smile off his face as the two left the room. Then, he realized, he was alone with the scarier of the two Doms.   

Suddenly, his blanket became very interesting. Jim continued to stare at the white material while he could feel Mycroft’s eyes boring into him as if he could see Jim’s entire life scene by scene. “How long have you known John?”

“Umm, about a year I guess. Why?”

“And he can’t feel bliss, yes?”

“Yeah, he always thought it was a blessing…or at least that’s what he said.”

“But you don’t?” Mycroft asked, and Jim felt himself being manipulated and controlled like a little puppet.

“I wouldn’t know. I don’t know what I’m missing,” Jim said, thinking himself pretty damn smart to give such an evasive answer. If they ever found out he wanted to feel bliss, it would be the end of him, he was sure. John was right, had to be right, because to give up freedom for bliss was stupid… _right?_

Mycroft smiled. “Fair enough. We will see if your opinion changes after you’ve been fitted for a collar, yes?”

Jim nodded, accepting his fate head on. “Is…is John okay? Harry and Mike?”

“They are all fine. Harry and Mike are being placed in good homes and John, well, John has been fitted with another collar while he is staying with my brother and me. But he is safe, and he is healthy.”

“Good,” Jim nodded to himself, “He doesn’t mean what he says sometimes.” _Oh no, why did I just say that?_

“Oh,” Mycroft said, raising his eyebrows.

“He hates Doms, but he…” Jim paused again, gathering the right words. He had to make sure they knew what a good person John was. “John saved me. He…took me in when I was thrown out like trash.” Jim let out a quiet sob, not liking the clogged up feeling in his throat. “He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. He talks like he does,” Jim chuckled a little bit, wiping the liquid coming out of his nose on the collar of his shirt, “but he doesn’t. So please…please don’t hurt him.”

The cool mask that appraised him like he was a data report suddenly fell for a brief moment. An understanding smirk came to Mycroft’s face, then as soon as it had appeared, it was gone. “I’ll take your statement into consideration.”

“Great,” Jim muttered to himself when Mycroft left the room. _This is just too crazy._

The very next day, they took Jim to a surgical room with medical machines and instruments everywhere, and a large operating table in the middle. He saw a roll up table with a big hunk of metal sitting on top. It looked like a metal collar, but had a long piece of metal extending downward, with little spikes extending from the shiny chrome.

Jim began to shake uncontrollably at the sight. His fight or flight instinct kicked in, and Jim knew he was a short, scrawny, fourteen year old, so he chose to run away as fast as he could. When Jim turned around to flee, his face ran straight into a solid chest.

“Whoa, there,” a familiar voice said. Two large hands were on his shoulders, pulling him away from the warm chest. “You’re alright,” Greg said, smiling down at him with those sincere brown eyes. Jim had always hoped, but was far too scared to dream, that there were actually people out there who had eyes like that. Eyes that accepted and cared, eyes that saw the darkness in his past and in his soul, but would still stand on his side of the line and put a hand on his shoulder to say he did a good job, that he was a good boy. The eyes of a father.

“I don’t want to be here,” Jim whimpered, his body still shaking. “I-I don’t want to be drugged!” He thought back to the needle piercing his skin, the helplessness, the fear, the pain. No, he would not let them drug him!

“Hey, hey,” Greg said, kneeling down in front of Jim and cupping the boy’s cheek. “It’s alright, Jim. There’s nothing to be scared of, I promise.” Greg stood up, keeping his hands on Jim’s shoulders, and leading the boy over to the collar. “See, this goes around your neck, not too tight though, you’ll be able to breath, swallow, and talk easily. Then, this part goes right here,” he rubbed two fingers down his nape and the first three vertebras.

Jim closed his eyes, the tremors in his appendages halted at the contact. He looked up at Greg, who smiled down at him. “It won’t hurt a bit,” he said, leading Jim over to the table, “we’re going to use a new technique that will allow bliss to penetrate at a deeper level and you won’t need any anesthetic.”

“You’re not going to drug me?” Jim looked up at him as he hoisted himself up on the bed.

“No,” Greg said, as if understanding Jim’s aversion to it, as if seeing the fear in his eyes was enough and no more questions were needed. “I’ll be here the whole time, and I will be administering the bliss…if that’s okay with you, of course.”

Jim looked around at the doctors preparing for surgery, then, sensing the one warm light in the vast chaotic ocean, Jim turned his attention back to Greg and nodded his head.

“Good,” Greg said, relieved. “Now, we ran a full body scan to check where you are most vulnerable to accepting bliss. It appears your forearms and your chest are open, so I’ll hold on to your arms while the doctors fit you with the collar, okay?”

“Okay,” Jim muttered quietly. It was now or never, and if this device gave him the ability to actually feel bliss, and Greg said it would be okay, then Jim was on board.

“Lie down on your stomach for us, son,” the doctor said, coming over and pushing gently on Jim’s shoulder.

“I’m not your son!” Jim snapped before he could catch himself. He didn’t like when people said that, he just didn’t, and that should be reason enough.

Expecting some kind of punishment, Jim winced, but the doctor just bowed his head. “My apologies, Jim, would you please lie down for me so we can get you fixed up.”

“S-Sure,” Jim said, confused, but relieved. An odd feeling formed in his gut, _regret?_ “Sorry.”

“You’re fine, Jim,” Greg said, going to the head of the bed when Jim was flat on the bed. “Are you comfortable?” Jim nodded his head, keeping his face buried in the little hole built into the bed so he could breathe easily during the surgery. “Good, I’m going to put my hands on your arms now, is that okay?”  

“Yeah.” As soon as the words escaped his lips, two big hands grabbed hold of his forearms and Jim felt his blood turn to magma. “Ah!” he screamed, pulling away from something he didn’t understand, something that taunted him in the dark, something wonderful, something awful, something he never wanted, something his entire being craved, something like…beautiful surrender.

“Shh,” Greg cooed, but backed off, holding his hands up to show he meant no harm.

Jim pushed himself up on his elbows and stared wild eyed at Greg, then at the doctors and nurses in the room. They all had small smiles on their faces as they waited for Jim to calm down and lie down again.

“That was…was that bliss?”

Greg just nodded, the skin at the corner of his eyes crinkling. “Do you want to try it again?”

“I…” Jim was about to say yes, but then remembered all the things John had told him, all the things Doms had done to him and other Subs at the playground. He wasn’t supposed to trust Doms, he wasn’t supposed to like bliss. But, in the core of his being, the little boy who clung to Hopper and didn’t say a word when bad things happened, he wanted to be someone’s good boy. He wanted bliss, wanted a Dom who would take care of him, wanted this collar. “Hell yes,” he said, lying back down and extending his arms for Greg to latch on to.

Greg laughed, then grabbed Jim’s arms. It was like a wave this time, gently washing onto the shores of Jim’s mind, muscles, bones, and fats; soaking the sand, saturating his body with warmth. There was nothing like it. Any Dom he’d ever met ordered him around and Jim would just follow them and pretend to feel bliss. But there was no way he could pretend to feel this much pleasure, this much calm, this much peace.

“Jim…Jim, lad, come on back,” a voice from far away called to him, beckoning him back to the land of the living, the land of decisions, the land of hard choices, the land where he was held down and violated, the land where he shot someone in the shoulder.

“Nooo,” Jim whined weakly, earning him a chuckle from everyone in the room.

“I know, I know,” Greg said sympathetically, patting him on the head.

With blissless reality back in full swing, Jim groaned at the dull pain in his neck. It wasn’t unbearable, but it was definitely there as a reminder of his collar. Getting his arms under him, Jim pushed himself up with the help of two hands on his sides. “You’re done?” It felt like he had only been under for ten seconds.

“Yep,” Greg said, “see, I told you there was nothing to worry about.” The Dom slapped him on the shoulder with a wide grin on his face.

“Does it feel alright?” the doctor asked. “Any pinching or discomfort?”

“Umm, no, it’s okay,” Jim lied. A little bit of pain was worth it if he could feel bliss all the time.

“Jim,” Greg said sternly, grabbing his chin to make the young boy look at him. “If something’s hurting you, you need to tell the doctor. We want to help you, not make things worse.”

Jim looked down in embarrassment, but the fingers on his chin didn’t allow it for too long. “It…it kinda hurts here,” he pointed to the metal on his nape and down his spine.”

“Some initial ache is to be expected,” the doctor said, “but if it’s too severe you’ll need to let one of your Doms know. We also have some antibiotics for you that will need to be applied daily for a week. I’m sure once they get the collar calibrated, the bliss you will be able to receive will help with the pain.”

“Alright,” Greg said, “let’s get you down to R&D so we can get you calibrated.”

 It was bloody awesome! All Jim had to do was sit there and let Mycroft and Greg say stuff to him to receive bliss. At first it was a bit overwhelming, but soon Jim had to lie down, as his muscles were turning into jelly.

“Wonderful,” Mycroft said, “with these first couple of subjects I believe it is best we stick with only a couple of voices.”

“Yeah,” Greg said, going over to sit by Jim, who was flailing his arms in an attempt to sit up. “I think if we allow too many people to Dom him, it might overwhelm the programming and his nerves.”

“Alright, Jim, let’s get you back to your room, shall we,” Greg said, picking up the Sub when Jim’s legs wouldn’t cooperate. Jim buried himself in Greg’s arms, feeling the warmth and safety that they held. At that moment, Jim didn’t need bliss, all he needed were the arms holding him and the dull heartbeat thudding from the man’s… _papa?..._ chest.

Greg tucked him in to a somewhat comfortable bed, then headed for the door. “W-Wait,” Jim whispered, his mind still foggy.

“You okay?” Greg asked, coming back to stand by Jim.

“Will…will you…never mind,” Jim changed his mind suddenly. He didn’t want the Dom to stay with him while he slept, while he was in his most vulnerable position. Ignoring reality like he did at the Playground wasn’t an option. Jim had to accept that Greg might not be what he appears to be. After all, the man could be gaining his trust so Jim would let his walls down, then that’s when he would attack.

Greg just smiled that kind smile Jim had come to know, and pulled up a chair to sit next to Jim’s bed. Without asking, Greg gently placed his hand on Jim’s arm and emitted the tiniest amount of bliss, just enough to remove the dull ache in his neck and lull him to a nightmare free sleep.

Jim’s world fell into a whirlwind after he got his collar. He and John were kidnapped by some bastards who tried to remove his collar. But John, being the brave man he’d always been, saved Jim’s life and sent him back to Greg.

It wasn’t over though, and the next thing Jim knew, a loud blast had him lying dazed in Mycroft’s study. Suddenly, the room was on fire, and Jim didn’t know what to do. He yelled for Greg, he yelled for Mycroft, he yelled for Sherlock, but none of them came. The flames began to consume him, eating him alive, charring his flesh, and punishing him for his stupid mistake of trusting that a Dom would protect him.

Jim was content to die there, to let all the memories that haunted his every thought disappear and rise with the smoke. He had felt bliss before he died, _and that’s all an orphaned Sub can ask for, I guess._  

“Fuck! Jim! Sherlock!” he heard a muffled voice shout. _John? What’s John doing here?_

Something inside Jim told him to fight, told him to keep going, if not for him, then for Molly! “Help!” Jim shouted even as the smoke filled his lungs.

John found him; John found him and carried him out into the snow, out into reality. Greg grabbed him immediately, wrapping a strong arm around him as the other held onto Mycroft. He saw John, a tall statue made of marble and steel that would never be broken, never be afraid, never give up, run back into the house screaming Sherlock’s name.

“Thank God, thank God,” Greg kept repeating over and over again, squeezing Jim’s stomach almost to the point of pain.

He didn’t know how to feel. With all his heart he wanted to believe Greg would have run into that burning building to save him like John did for both Jim and Sherlock. But…Greg hadn’t. Jim tried to squirm away from the Dom, but it was impossible. Though Jim had put on a few pounds since he was caught, Greg was a thirty, maybe forty-something year old man who probably weighed one eighty and had muscles in places a fourteen year old just didn’t possess. So, no matter how much Jim fought to get away from the man who he thought would save him, the Sub stayed tucked to Greg’s side.

Police surrounded the house and medics rushed to their sides. Jim saw John lying passed out on the icy grass, with Sherlock shaking him. “John! John!” he shouted, struggling as Greg and the medics strapped him down to a gurney. “Let me go! I’m fine!” Jim continued his thrashing even as he was put into an ambulance. His thigh hurt something terrible, but he didn’t care; he needed to know that John was okay.

“Jim,” Greg said calmly. The man had insisted he come with Jim on the ambulance ride to hospital. “Jim, calm down,” he commanded gently, his voice triggering the collar on Jim’s neck. The Sub relaxed slightly as a white haze started to flood his body. “Good boy,” he heard, making his heart melt into putty begging to be controlled.

They had to stay at hospital for what seemed like forever. Greg spent the day visiting him and Mycroft, bringing Molly with him. John had told him that Greg would have done the same thing, he would have run back into the burning house for him, but John beat him to it. Jim wanted to believe, he wanted to so badly.

Even Mycroft came to visit him a couple of times, bringing him a covertly obtained stash of ice cold blueberry yogurt… _wait…what?_ “How did you…” Jim asked, speechless. _He couldn’t know…could he? The bloke is pretty damn scary._

The man sighed heavily and sat down in the chair next to Jim’s bed. He opened a yogurt himself, and began eating the fruity, creamy goodness. “Every single piece of evidence of your time at Dominic’s Pleasure Playground has been collected and placed in a protective vault that will never see the light of day. My assistant Anthea and I are, and will be, the only ones to see the surveillance videos. Ever.”

Jim ducked his head in embarrassment. The Dom had seen what happened to him, what he had to do, what he was forced to do. “Everything?” Jim asked, hoping Mycroft had missed his very last day at the Playground.

“All of your little vent adventures, your serving at the bar, and…your meeting with Mr. Dominic. They are all gone, Jim, I promise you that.”

“So…Greg doesn’t know?” Jim asked, though he didn’t know why he cared so much about what Greg thought.

“He suspects, yes,” Mycroft told him honestly, “be he does not know the details, and he never will.”

“Thanks,” Jim said. He knew it wouldn’t erase what happened, or the memory that was imprinted in Jim’s brain, but it would guarantee that no one else would know, no one else would judge him, pity him. He didn’t want Greg’s pity, he wanted… _understanding?_

“You are very welcome,” Mycroft said, eating the last bite of his yogurt and tossing it in the rubbish bin with expert accuracy. “Now, we will give you a month to recover and get used to the collar. After that though, we will require you to come in and submit to a few tests to measure the performance and efficiency of the collar.”

“Sure…umm, so where do I go now?”

Mycroft tilted his head in confusion. “Greg hasn’t spoken to you yet?”

“Yeah, but he never said anything about me coming to live with him since I got the collar. I just assumed…well, I don’t know. Figured he didn’t want me around. After all,” Jim added as an afterthought, “I don’t have the cute and sweet factor like Molly does.”

Mycroft stared at him for a moment, then he shook his head, letting it drop into his hand. “Youth,” he said dramatically, “why must they all be so self-conscious? You and John…and even that pig-headed brother of mine; why can you not just ask for what you desire?”

Jim furrowed his brow. _How does he know what I desire? The posh Dom has no idea what I want!_

When Jim didn’t respond, Mycroft continued. “You are more like Molly than you think, dear boy,” he said, his voice growing kinder as he spoke. “Greg would be delighted to have you come live with him. All you have to do is ask.”

Jim sighed. He really, really did not want to have to ask Greg if he could stay with him. That’s proof right there that he already has Jim under his Dom spell. But…then again, John did the same thing. He cried for his Dom, saved him from the burning flames, and revived him so they could be together. If John wanted bliss, then why couldn’t Jim?  “Will…will you ask him for me?” It couldn’t hurt to try.

Mycroft smiled genuinely for the first time, but shook his head. “No, I’m afraid that is a task meant only for you, Jim.” The red haired man stood up, stretched his back, then left Jim without another word.

Jim asked him! He held his breath almost to the point of passing out, but then let the words fall out of his soul like they were the only words that ever would, and ever will matter.

“Of course!” Greg said, a wide smile revealing his joy at Jim’s question.

Molly jumped on Jim’s bed, making him wince when she kicked his burnt thigh. Greg easily picked the excited little girl up and went to check Jim out of hospital. Home…Jim was going home?

“This is your room,” Greg said, opening the door to a decent size room with a double bed covered in a dark green comforter, a small flat screen telly with a gaming system that Jim had read about in one of the magazines he’d stolen from the break room at The Playground, a desk with a lamp, a dresser, and a shelf full of books. _Thank goodness Jamie taught me to read._

“Wow…” Jim said, shocked as he stepped inside. “This is…too much.”

“No,” Greg said, putting a hand on Jim’s back to reassure the young Sub. “You’re a fourteen year old bloke, you’ll need your space.” As they talked, Molly squeezed through their legs and jumped on Jim’s bed. She giggled, then turned on a green lava lamp, which led to more high pitched laughter.

“I told Greg you liked green! I remember you picked out that sleeping bag with the bright green strips,” Molly said, settling on the bed.

“You…bought this stuff? How did you even know I would say yes?” Jim asked, confused, stunned, and secretly gleeful at the fact.

Greg just continued to smirk at Jim, offering no insight to the man’s knowledge.

“Greg said, of course you’d come!” Molly supplied. “He said you just have problems with trust and-”

“Molly,” Greg snapped, though not harshly. The little girl closed her mouth and looked up at the tall Dom. “Why don’t you go wash your hands for dinner and set the table.”

“For three people!” she chanted as she walked out of the room, but not before giving Jim a quick hug.

Greg and Jim laughed, but soon an awkward silence took over. “Well,” Greg said, putting his hands on his hips, “the bathroom is down the hall. Sorry, but you and Molly will have to share, but you have your own towel and stuff like that. We do laundry on Saturday…oh, yeah, that reminds me.” Greg went over to a dresser and opened the drawers revealing brand new shirts, trousers, pants, and socks.

Jim reached a tentative hand forward to touch the soft fabric of a green and white striped shirt. “You…Why are you doing this for me? What do you want?” the Sub said, pulling his hand back like it burned him. Doms never gave Subs gifts like this, at least not without a price. At The Playground, Jamie always paid the guards with a blow job, while Jim watched, when the two Subs needed something. When Jim got older, the Doms wanted him to do the same thing, but he was able to convince them by providing free bottles of liquor from the bar. Nevertheless, nothing in life was free, and Jim feared Greg might want something more than just a blow job.

“I don’t want anything from you Jim,” the man said. “I asked you to stay with me so I could take care of you.” Greg put his hand on Jim’s shoulder, causing the teen to pull away.

“I’ll suck your dick if you want, but I’m not doing anything else!” he heard himself say, his defenses and need for survival jumping up to protect him. “And…and if you did something to Molly I’ll-”

“Jim, Jim,” Greg said, his eyes sad instead of angry like Jim had expected. “I don’t want anything from you, okay? You don’t…” he paused as if the thoughts running through his head were too painful to articulate. “You don’t have to do anything like that from now on. I know…I know you’ve only been around Doms who’ve treated you in a way that nobody, Dom or Sub, deserves to be treated. A good Dom will never ever require you to do something against your will. Do you understand?”

“Are…are you a ‘good Dom?’” Jim asked, his head bowed as he looked through his lashes at the tall man.

Greg bent down on one knee, scooting closer to Jim, but far enough to give the skittish Sub his space. “I am. And I will never, ever, allow anyone to hurt you again…if you’ll let me.”

Jim noticed how Greg seemed to always ask him for permission. It was strange, but perhaps he was just doing it to make Jim feel like he was in control. But…the harsh matter of reality was that Jim didn’t want to be in control.

“Thanks for all this stuff,” Jim whispered, looking around and taking it all in. If Greg wanted to give this to him, Jim would accept and hopefully, hopefully, it wouldn’t come back to bite him in the arse.

“You’re very welcome,” Greg said in a strange voice; almost like he had a knot stuck in his throat. Jim noticed how pink the rims of the Dom’s eyes were, but assumed it must have been allergies. _In the winter?_ “Now, I’m sure Molly has already set the table and is now chomping at the bit waiting for us. Have any ideas for dinner?”

Jim’s eyes grew wide. He had never been allowed to choose what he ate for dinner. Never! “Umm,” _don’t screw this up, Jim._ “Do you have any yogurt?” he asked with a lop-sided grin.

Greg laughed heartily at that and stood up, putting a hand on the back of Jim’s head, just above the collar. “I do, blueberry in fact, but why don’t we save that for dessert, huh?”

“Dessert?” Jim asked, because holy shit they get dessert!

“Yeah, we can eat it while we finish up The Two Towers; I recorded it. I have the Fellowship too if you’ve never seen it. I’m sure Molly won’t mind starting from the beginning; she falls asleep thirty minutes in, anyway.”

“Cool,” Jim let himself relax a little. This was okay. He could do this. He could be Greg’s Sub. He could be a good boy. “French Toast?”

“Ha! Breakfast for dinner,” Greg said, scratching the scruff at the nape of Jim’s neck, “a man after my own heart.”

It was wonderful, no, no, it was more than that; it was bliss. Greg would make them dinner every night, letting Molly be sous chef while Jim set the table and got drinks. Then they would watch a movie and eat dessert, usually ice cream, which is so much better than yogurt it’s not even funny. Greg would slap Jim on the knee or back when they got to a funny part of the movie. He would also let Molly curl up under his arm and into his chest when the scary part came. But Jim never did. He wanted to, of course he wanted to, but he just couldn’t bring himself to openly be scared.

Days passed and the routine continued. Jim got to shower as long as he wanted, and discovered the masterpiece that was the bubble bath. Greg would already have breakfast ready when he went downstairs, and even though the Dom wouldn’t let him have coffee, he got to choose from milk, orange juice, and apple juice, which he always picked. Each night they watched a movie together, curled up on the couch. With every movie, Jim seemed to gain his courage and would scoot closer to Greg, who had Molly asleep next to him. But the Dom never pushed or tried to coax Jim closer; he would only keep his arm stretched on the top of the couch, leaving a Jim sized space next to him.

Jim still had nightmares even though the bliss Greg would give him daily subdued the more mild memories. The worst ones though, those demons came out to play every night. One night in particular when he dreamed John, Greg, and Mycroft were standing over in the corner, watching as Dominic violated him, Jim woke up screaming.

His door flew open as Greg burst in, his stance showing he was ready for a fight. “What’s wrong, Jim? Are you okay?”

“Yeah, umm,” he mumbled, wiping away the tears he’d cried while still asleep. “I’m okay.”

“Jim,” Greg said sternly, and Jim knew what that meant; Greg saw right through him. The man sat down next to him, putting his hand on the bed, bracketing Jim’s thigh with his hand and hip.

“It was just a bad dream, that’s all. I’m fine now, though,” Jim lied. He desperately wanted Greg to stay until he fell asleep again. Those were the best nights and all the shadows stayed out of his mind.

“Jim,” he said again, and that was all the push Jim needed.

Tears rolled down the boy’s face, tears that he hadn’t cried since the day he set foot at the Playground. “I-I tried to ss-stop them!” he wailed, but his cries were muffled by the chest he was pulled into.

“I know, Jim, I know,” the Dom said, stroking John’s back gently and holding him as his little body shook with anguish.

“They-They wouldn’t ss-stop! And they t-took Jamie to the pound..and…and they threw me out like a piece of…of trash! That’s all I am, Greg, please, please!” He didn’t know what he was asking for, didn’t know why those words fell from his lips. _Please kill me? Please save me? Please don’t let me get my hopes up and then throw me out when you find out I’m defective?_

“Shh, shh,” Greg hushed him. They stayed like that for a few long minutes. Jim never wanted it to end; the feeling of a warm embrace, the acceptance, the comfort, the shelter. But, Greg had other ideas and pulled Jim away at arm’s length. “You,” he put his hand over Jim’s heart, “are not trash, Jim Moriarty. You…” he paused again, looking deep into Jim’s eyes, “are a good boy.”

_A what?_ Jim felt himself crack open. All of the tar that had built up over the years was now being replaced by a warm light, a warm light of love, a warm light only a parent could give to their child. “I…”

“And now, you have me, Mycroft, and Sherlock to look after you. I don’t think the Holmes brothers would associate themselves with trash, do you?” he asked, earning a laugh from Jim.

“No,” he said after seeing how posh and antisocial Mycroft and Sherlock were. _Poor John._

“We love you, sweetheart, and I need you to know that you can come to me with anything, alright? If you’re hurt, sad, or even happy, you can talk to me…and I’ll listen.”

“Will…” Jim paused, biting his lip. The words of Mycroft echoed in his head, ‘why can’t you just ask for what you desire?’ “Will you stay with me until I fall asleep?” He braced himself for rejection, but it never came. Greg just pushed him back to the bed, pulling the covers up to his chest, and put his hand on Jim’s forearm.

“Good night, Jim,” he said, just as Jim’s eyes closed and slumber took him.

After that, Jim sat curled up under one of Greg’s arms, while Molly huddled under the other during their movie night. Greg would squeeze him tight when Jim would shutter from a rather scary scene where Frodo was spun up in the web of a giant spider.

Life, Jim contemplated as he sat up reading ‘A Tell Tale Heart’ on his bed, was pretty damn close to perfect. He had Molly, John seemed to be doing okay with Sherlock and Mycroft, the other Subs, according to Greg, were doing well in their new homes, and Greg…Greg took care of him, watched out for him, made him feel safe and…loved. Greg was… _was…wrong! Wait, what?_

The problem when one’s mind turns on them is that it is like a computer virus in that the user is unaware they are infected until it is too late, the damage has been done. The man who killed the old man with the vulture eye and dug his heart out of the floor boards…he didn’t think he was crazy at all, no, he knew without a doubt that heart was beating underneath the floor.

Jim tried to continue reading, but his thoughts began to shift, began to decay and crumble until nothing was left but hatred for two men whose voices he could hear mocking him in his mind…Greg and Mycroft.

Their voices made his skin crawl, and their stupid commands made him want to throw up. Yes, Jim finally realized after all this time, Greg was the problem, Greg was the one who put those horrible memories in his head, Greg was the one who wanted to hurt him and Molly. Greg…had to die if Jim was ever going to be happy again. Jim threw the book across the room, still picturing the narrator peering inside the evil old man’s room at night, waiting for his chance to strike.  

Jim knew he had to stop Greg before it was too late, before he found out that Jim knew his secret. Little bursts of electricity fired off constantly at the nape of his neck, putting him on edge as he got out of bed and headed for where Greg kept his gun. His eyes and hands twitched restlessly from the sonic pulses that flowed through his body, but he crawled up to the top of Greg’s closet and pulled down the gun.

Before he made his way downstairs, Jim looked down at the pajamas Greg had bought him. He could see worms and larva crawling around all over the places where Greg had touched him. His forearms and his chest reeked of dead earth, making him nauseous. Stripping off his clothes as fast as he could, he rid himself of anything and everything that was from the grotesque monster that sat down in the living room watching the telly.

Not caring at all that he was completely naked, Jim held the gun in his hand as he walked down to confront the bane of his existence. And next, he would take care of Mycroft Holmes!

Greg was sitting on the couch with a bottle of beer in his hand and one of his legs crossed over the other. Jim narrowed his eyes, feeling the electric jabs in his nape speed up at the sight of the man, the Dom who ordered him around.

_No!nonono! Don’t do this! This is Greg!_ A part of his mind fought like a wild lion in chains as another part raised the gun at the back of Greg’s head. _No, God, please don’t do this! Do it! Kill him and all this will end! NO!_

“Jim?” a small voice came from behind him, startling the young Sub.

Jim turned around quickly, as did the Dom sitting on the couch. “Jim?” Greg asked, standing up quickly when he saw the boy had a gun in his hand.

He turned back around to face the Dom, flinching when a harsh jolt ran through his spine, telling his finger to pull the trigger and put a halt to Greg’s existence. “G-Greg…please…” was all the real Jim could force out.

“Molly,” Greg said calmly, keeping his hands up, “why don’t you go upstairs for a bit, yeah?” But the little girl shook her head and focused on Jim.

Jim growled, his eyes filling up with tears and his nose starting to bleed as he fought against the urge to pull the trigger.

“Jim,” Greg said, slowly making his way towards the young Sub, one cautious step at a time. “It’s okay, Jim, you’re alright. I’m not mad at you,” he said, trying his best to keep Jim calm while he approached the crazed child. “Why don’t you just hand me the gun…and then we can make some hot chocolate, huh? How does that sound?”

“Please…you. Need. To. Leave,” Jim gritted out between chattering teeth. He didn’t want to shoot Greg, he didn’t! Greg was the only person he’d ever loved, who ever treated him like a whole person, a real boy, a good boy. If he shot Greg, Jim would surely die along with him.

“I’m not leaving you, Jim,” Greg said, only three feet away now. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but we’ll fix it, okay? I promise. Just hand over-” Before Greg finished his sentence, he dove for Jim, but not before a panicked finger pulled the trigger.

The loud bang, the crushing weight that held him down, and the now high voltage that ran through Jim’s spine caused the Sub to convulse on the floor. His body went into a seizure, his eyes rolling back and his tongue lolling out of his mouth while he shook on the floor.

“Jim?! Jim?!” Molly screamed, running over to the two men on the floor. Greg was braced on his arms over Jim, blood dripping from his flank onto Jim’s naked stomach. 

“Molly,” Greg gritted out, moving to kneel next to Jim and turning him on his side, “I need you to be a big girl, okay? Go get my mobile on the table and call 999. Tell them to send two ambulances. Then, I want you to call Mycroft, his number is in my phone, and tell him to meet us at the hospital.”  

The little girl just stood there in horror, watching as her best friend shook on the floor with lifeless eyes and her Dom clutched his side that was becoming more and more soaked with blood. “Molly,” Greg said, sending out bliss to the little Sub, “calm down, everything is going to be okay. Just do as I ask and call 999, then Mycroft.”

Molly stopped shivering and ran off to the kitchen to find Greg’s phone.

Greg let out a pained gasp as he removed his hand to note that Jim had only clipped him, thank God. But the boy below him was still shaking in spurts now, his eyes still rolled to the back of his head. “You’re okay, Jim. I’ve got you, son,” he whispered, pulling the boy into his arms and pressing their foreheads together. He heard Molly talking in the other room and let out a silent prayer. “Please be okay.” 


	10. Coma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim embodies the title of the chapter. John is pissed. Mycroft is pissed. Greg is too damn nice. And Sherlock seems to be the only calm one of the bunch (whose not on morphine, that is).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> Back to John's POV! I hope you enjoy!
> 
> Thanks to TPurr for editing even though she's at the Sherlock Con in Washington...I hate you, but I mean that in the nicest way :) Also, I added a few things after the edit, so all mistakes are mine.

Chapter 10 – Coma

John walked into the hospital room first, followed by Sherlock and Mycroft. His fingers went numb when he saw a small boy lying on a bed with his eyes closed and circular stickers with wires coming out of them plastered all over his forehead. Jim, the fourteen year old who he had found beaten and naked behind a brothel, the fourteen year old who had saved Molly without worrying about his own safety, the fourteen year old who had put his trust in two Doms and was now paying the price, was pale and sweaty as he lay unconscious on the hospital bed.

“What are you doing in here, Gregory? The doctor said you need rest, and most certainly should not be sitting in some poorly made hospital chair,” Mycroft said behind him.

Instead of mourning for his friend, John whirled around to face the two Doms who were responsible for Jim’s breakdown. Greg sat slumped in a chair, holding his right side through the sea foam green hospital gown. He looked as pale and as exhausted as Jim, but the sadness in his eyes was deeper than John expected.

“What the fuck did you do to him?!” John shouted, leaving Jim’s side to stand in front of Greg and Mycroft.

“I didn’t-” Greg started, but was cut off by Mycroft.

“You will not talk to him that way,” Mycroft hissed, stepping in between John and Greg and puffing his chest out. He peered down at John, daring him to take a step further.

“Jim was just fine until you lot came along and tried to fix him! He didn’t need to be fixed! None of us do!” John shouted, his voice growing louder as his anger rose.

“On the contrary,” Mycroft said, taking a step towards John, forcing the Sub to either back up or bump his nose into the Dom’s chest. John decided to back up, not because he was scared or anything, he just didn’t trust himself not to head butt the man. “Jim was not okay and had not been okay for a very long while.”

“You don’t even know him, you bastard! You just think we’re all fucked up because we don’t want to have anything to do with your stupid bliss!” John could feel his heart thudding against his ribs, could feel the blood pulse through his brain, as anger pooled in his stomach. This was all the proof he needed that a Sub could never trust a Dom. If you did, you’d end up having a psychotic breakdown.

“I swear to God,” John said, leaning around Mycroft and pointing furiously at Greg, “if you laid a hand on him, you fucking pervert, I’ll cut your balls off and-”

“That is enough!” Mycroft said, grabbing hold of John’s right ear none too gently and yanked him towards the door.

“Mycroft-” Sherlock started, taking a step to follow them, but was stopped by a deadly look from his brother.

“No, Sherlock. Stay,” he growled as he forced John out the door.

John’s hands immediately came up to grab Mycroft’s wrist, but no matter how much he dug his fingers into the man’s flesh, the Dom seemed unperturbed. His ear was on fire now and John thought it might rip off entirely until they were in the hallway and Mycroft shoved him up against the wall roughly. John tried to move away, to regain some sense of control and authority, but Mycroft simply bracketed his arms on either side of John’s head, staring him down with those glacial eyes.

“Mycroft-” John didn’t know if he was about to apologize or tell the man off. The Sub that had broken down in Mycroft’s arms wanted to bare his neck, but the protective teenager who just saw his friend in a coma wanted to lash out in anger.

“Be silent,” Mycroft growled, moving his face closer to John’s. “I know you are angry and I know you are scared, but this is not the time for you to project your fears and whatever your past has taught you about Doms onto what happened with Jim.”

John suddenly became very uncomfortable having the Dom so close to him and calling him out like he’d been able to read the Sub like a book from day one. He squirmed and tried to break past one of Mycroft’s arm barriers, but failed miserably, and was forced to look back up at the Dom. “J-Jim was fine before you put that collar on him, before he started living with Greg. He was a little…intense, but he was fine,” John tried to convince himself. _We’re all fine!_

Mycroft sighed and removed his hands. “Your denial is not going to help Jim and you are doing him a disservice by trying to convince him everything is okay. Gregory had done nothing but try to help that broken Sub-”

“Yeah, a lot of good that did! That stupid collar of yours about killed him!” John snapped back, feeling much more confident without Mycroft’s arms bracketing him in.

“And having him break into houses and start fires did wonders for Jim’s psyche,” Mycroft narrowed his eyes at the boy in front of him, accusing. John could see something in Mycroft’s eyes, something that was a mix of sadness, fear, and anger, something that said John should not be pushing like this, even if he was pissed.

“You shut the fuck up!” John screamed. He did the best he could taking care of the other Subs, and not one of them freaked out and shot someone. _Well, he did kinda try to shoot me and Mycroft, but that’s neither here nor there._  

In an instant, the tall Dom snapped and pushed John up against the wall, gripping him by the front of his shirt. “Greg and I have done more for Subs than you could even dream of,” he growled, finally losing it. “And I don’t need some foolish Sub telling me how to do my job.”

“Just because you’re shagging the bastard doesn’t make him innocent! He did something to Jim and you know it! You’re just too busy thinking with your dick like every other fucking Dom!” John shouted, his face going red and the small veins popping out of his neck. He could feel himself growing lightheaded as everything he’d feared about these collars came into his reality.

Then, the look on Mycroft’s face halted any other insult John could come up with. The man looked furious, no, beyond furious. Mycroft looked right murderous, and John was the center of that deadly glare. At first, John thought the Dom was going to hit him, slap him, or punch him until the teenager submitted.

“Kneel,” Mycroft growled, projecting so much bliss it made John’s eyes roll in the back of his head and his knees go weak. His knees hit the ground with a quiet thud. Every muscle in John’s body seemed to relax as it was saturated with bliss; even his lungs had trouble pulling in oxygen to keep his heart beating. “You…” Mycroft gritted out. “You are just a boy,” he said slowly, softly. A hand ran gently through John’s hair, and the teenager didn’t even have the conscious mind to stop himself from leaning into the touch of the man he had just insulted.

With that, Mycroft left him kneeling and swaying on the floor. He heard a door open, then saw Greg being herded into the hallway with Mycroft’s arm around his waist, supporting him as they walked. “I’m chaining you to your bed with your own handcuffs if you refuse to rest and let yourself heal,” Mycroft said sternly, but stroked Greg’s flank with a gentleness John had only seen once before.

“Kinky,” Greg chuckled, though his words sounded pained.

John watched as the two men walked down the hallway and entered a room six doors down. “John,” Sherlock said, making the boy slowly turn his head as the bliss still coursed through his muscles. “Come on, let’s get out of the hallway.” The Dom hoisted John up with two hands under his arm pits, and half dragged him into the room and pulled the Sub down into his lap.

“Jim,” John moaned, reaching out towards the small boy on the bed.

“He’s in a chemically induced coma for now,” Sherlock said, his lips right next to John’s ear and his hand rubbing soothingly on his belly. “The doctors are still running tests, but they think the collar was sending pulses of electricity to certain parts of his brain, making him hallucinate and become delirious.”

“Stupid fucking Mycroft and his stupid fucking-” John said, but his rant and his squirming was interrupted by Sherlock’s arms tightening around him.   

“Hey, that’s enough,” the Dom said, patting John’s chest.

“Enough? Tell that to Jim,” John snapped.

“Jim will be fine. The collar hasn’t permanently damaged him. Perhaps he will need some counseling, but Greg will take care of him.”

“Greg?! But he-”

“Come now, John,” Sherlock chastised, turning the teen around and cupping his chin. “You know very well Greg had nothing to do with what happened. Nor did Mycroft-”

“But-”

“You really think Mycroft wanted the project he’s been working on for five years to get washed down the drain in two seconds? Do you really think he wanted the only man he ever loved to get shot? Do you really think he wanted Jim to get hurt?”

“Well, no, but…” John said, looking away from Sherlock’s gaze in shame. He started gnawing on his lower lip at the realization that he had been a complete and utter arsehole to a man who almost lost his lover and probably did lose his life’s work. _Fuck, way to go John. You try to get people to treat you like an adult and then you go and do something stupid like that. Bloody moron!_ “Shit.”

Sherlock hummed in agreement and tucked his chin in the crook of John’s neck. The Dom reached up and thumbed John’s abused lower lip away from his teeth. “Do you think Jim is going to be okay?” John asked honestly, his voice soft.

“Yes, I do,” Sherlock said, his voice confident.

John reached down and took Sherlock’s hand off his belly and interlaced it with his own. He squeezed the larger hand and closed his eyes, praying that his friend would be okay, praying that John hadn’t led Jim to his doom by letting him go with Greg. “You and my brother are quite strikingly similar,” Sherlock sighed. “Are you going to swallow that pride you cling to so desperately and apologize to Mycroft and Greg?”

He didn’t like it, no one liked apologizing after they’d been a complete arse, but John nodded his head and scooted off of Sherlock’s lap. With reluctance, he let go of the warm hand that provided him much needed comfort. Before John left to do his duty, he quietly padded over to Jim. It hurt his heart to see the boy who had already been through so much lying there like that. It was John’s job to protect him, and he’d failed, he’d become too caught up in his own problems with Sherlock and Mycroft and completely forgotten about Jim and Molly.

“I’m here now, Jim,” he whispered, leaning over the bed so they were face to face. “It’s okay, you’re safe.” John pressed a soft kiss to the boy’s forehead, then pulled away, rubbing his face in an attempt to stop the tears threatening to escape.

“I’ll keep an eye on him,” Sherlock said, as if seeing John’s reluctance to leave the room.

“Thanks,” he mumbled, then slowly made his way down the hall. His heart began to beat faster as he neared the room. _What am I supposed to say? The guy did develop the collar that hurt Jim…but, he didn’t mean for that to happen, right? He just thought he was helping Subs…right?_

John poked his head around the corner to see a sight that made him feel even shittier. Greg was lying covered up on the hospital bed, pale with bags under his eyes, while Mycroft sat beside the bed with his head lying on the man’s thighs, looking up at him. Greg kept running his hand through Mycroft’s red hair, weakly smiling down at the Dom.

“It’s going to be alright, love,” Greg whispered to his lover, whose hand was gently resting over the bandages on Greg’s flank. “I’m fine.”

“You most certainly are not fine,” Mycroft said, his voice sounding choked off, like he was barely keeping it together. “I should have foreseen this. It’s all my fault, I-”

“No,” Greg’s voice was stern now, “Mycroft Holmes, this is not your fault. Nobody saw this coming. Nobody could have anticipated it. It’s just something that happens when you are trying to develop new technology. There is always risk involved, we all knew that.”

“Why must you always be so rational? Even when you’ve been shot!” Mycroft whined, yes, actually whined, as his hand caressed Greg’s neck.

“Practice…and I bribed the nurse to up my morphine,” Greg chuckled again, wincing at the pain in his side.

“You are an idiot,” Mycroft muttered into the man’s thigh.

“I love you too, My,” he sighed, a small sad smile on his face.

John bit his lip again, tasting the tell tale sign of iron that he’d gone too far. Rapping on the frame of the door gently, John waited for both men to look his way. Mycroft’s head shot up to see who was there, and glared when he saw it was John standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“How is he, John?” Greg asked, grabbing his lover’s hand to keep the red haired Dom calm.

“Same...but Sherlock thinks he’ll be alright,” John said, taking a few steps into the room. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

“That’s alright,” Greg said, “it’s a bit boring around here, so I’m glad you guys came to visit.”

“Is there anything else, John?” Mycroft asked, obviously perturbed that his time with Greg was interrupted.

“I just, umm…” John looked down at his feet, kicking at the tile to make soft squeaking noises. “I’m sorry!” he blurted out, rather loudly.

“Oh?” Mycroft questioned, not letting John off the hood that easily.

_Bastard._ “You were-are,” he corrected himself quickly, “the only good Dom Jim’s ever had. He…he’s a good kid, and I…well, got a little protective, and I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have talked to you like that, not after all the good things you did to help Jim. You made him happy, and…I’m glad you’re alright.” John took a deep breath, glad that it was over, until he looked over at Mycroft and realized he still had one more thing to take care of.

“It’s alright, John,” Greg said, kindly. _No wonder Jim likes this guy so much. It’s like my fucking blood turns to butter around him._ “You were just being a good friend. Jim deserves friends like you.”

“Umm, yeah,” John hesitated, finally forcing himself to make eye contact with Mycroft, who had been staring at him since he entered the room. “I’m sorry Mycroft. I know you didn’t mean for any of this to happen and that you’re just trying to help Subs. I didn’t mean what I said back there in the hallway. It’s been a hell of a day and my anger just got the better of me.” The teenager made it half way through his apology and had to put his eyes back on the floor, unable to withstand the constant gaze of icy blue eyes.

Without a word, Mycroft stood up and walked over to John, placing his hand on the back of the Sub’s neck. “I suppose emotions got the better of both of us today,” the Dom said, pulling John into their second hug of the day. John could get used to this, but he much preferred to avoid the preamble of fighting.

“What can I do to help Jim?” John asked, his face still pressed against the starch stiffened dress shirt that smelled faintly of detergent and _wood? Spicy wood?_ It wasn’t as pleasant to John’s nose as the coconut and cinnamon of Sherlock’s clothes, but it was still comforting.

“Our theory, based on what little evidence we’ve gained from the other collared Subs, is that Jim was only after Gregory and myself, the two Doms who his collar is programmed to respond to. We would like to test that theory,” Mycroft said, pulling away from John and going back to sit next to Greg. “The doctors will map his brain activity while he interacts with you, a Sub, Sherlock, a Dom who he is not programmed to respond to, and myself, a Dom who has authorization over him according to the collar.”

John nodded his head in understanding. That made sense, and maybe they could learn Jim’s thought process along the way. Plus, if Jim was awake, John could double check, even though he trusted Greg, that the Dom never laid a hand on him or Molly.

“Yeah, okay,” John said, “I’ll do whatever I can.”

“Good,” Mycroft said, putting a hand back on Greg’s bandaged side. John didn’t know if the man did it on purpose, or if he was subconsciously protecting Greg. Whatever the reason, John smiled. It reminded him of when he slept with Sherlock and the lanky man would always gently cover John’s wounds with his appendages. _It must be a Holmes thing,_ John mused to himself. “Why don’t you go back to Jim’s room and wait with Sherlock. I’ll schedule everything with the doctors, so we will be able to have Jim awake in the next couple of hours.”

“Alright,” John said, then added as an afterthought, “can I get you guys anything?”

Both Doms seemed caught off guard and a little shocked by the question, but Mycroft quickly schooled his features. “That will be all, John,” he said, in a pompous tone that made both Greg and John roll their eyes. Apparently, Mycroft was done with their informal discussion and had put on his public persona of ‘I’m a Dom, you’re a Sub’ that the cameras so loved.

“No thanks, John,” Greg added with a smile.

John made his way back to Sherlock and Jim, to find the Dom sitting in one of the chairs looking at his phone. There was a pack of crisps and a bottle of Coca-Cola sitting on the chair next to him. “Eat,” was all the Dom said, not bothering to look up from his phone.

“How did you know I liked salt and vinegar?” John asked, picking up the food and sitting down next to Sherlock.

“Obvious.” And John left it at that, eating his crisps in silence and enjoying the first fizzy drink he’d had in years. He watched Sherlock for a moment, wondering how the man could be obsessed with him one minute, kissing him, holding his hand, and then be so distant, like John wasn’t even there. It was strange, but hell, John had never been in… _love_ before, so who was he to say what was odd and was normal. None of them were normal, but that was okay, he guessed.  

He looked over at Jim’s unconscious form, wondering what was going on in the Sub’s head. What if Jim was stuck in the nightmares of his past? John knew little of what had happened at that brothel he’d found Jim at, or how long the Sub had been there, but he knew Jim had his demons. Hopefully, hopefully! The drugs they gave Jim to knock him out also stopped unwanted thoughts from prying into his dreams. John couldn’t protect Jim from his nightmares, but he would damn sure protect him from the real world monsters.            


	11. Don't Damn Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John, Sherlock, and Mycroft test the limits of Jim's madness. John and Sherlock plus janitor's closet equals awkward, but sexy, times.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Hope you all enjoy this chapter! It's not beta'ed yet, so please forgive any mistakes. 
> 
> Also, I started a new job on Friday, so I'm hoping I will still be able to keep the same schedule of updating every Sunday, but the chapters might become a bit shorter. Sorry for that, but one must go where the money is, yes? And most jobs that pay enough to support my Mountain Dew and Hot pocket addiction require a 9-5 commitment...what's that all about? :)

Chapter 11 – Don’t Damn Me

John sat next to Sherlock, eating his crisps and licking his fingers clean of left over salt and vinegar. Sherlock continued to type on his phone, looking over at John when he thought the boy wasn’t paying attention. He was though, and his cheeks burned every time those intense examining eyes raked over his body. The Dom did things to him, there was no denying that, but John knew this was neither the time nor the place to address any of those warm feelings in his gut and groin. No, this was about Jim, not John and Sherlock.

“Alright,” Mycroft said, entering the room with his façade back up. The broken man who buried his head in his wounded lover’s thigh was gone, and the confident authoritative Dom who made lesser Doms wet their pants was back. “The equipment is ready. We will wake Jim up and I want you, John, to be the first person he sees, as I’m sure he will not react violently towards you. Then, after a while, I will send Sherlock in and we will see how Jim reacts.”

“Okay,” John nodded, standing up and wiping his salty fingers on his trousers. Mycroft stared at the greasy spot and raised a disapproving eyebrow at John. “S’rry,” he mumbled, looking down and away from the accusing gaze. _God, how does the man do it? My bloody hands are shaking!_

“Very well, let’s begin. Go ahead and wake Jim up, please,” he said to the nurse, who nodded and scurried over to fiddle with Jim’s IV. “Come, Sherlock, we don’t want any Doms in here when Jim first wakes.”

Sherlock stood up, glancing once at Jim, then Mycroft, then John. He walked over to the Sub and cupped his hands on both sides of John’s face, no doubt feeling the heat radiating from the boy’s cheeks. “I will be right outside the door. If you need anything, just shout for me and I’ll be right there. Will you be okay?”

John looked over at his friend who he thought would never hurt a fly, then pictured him shooting Mycroft and Greg. The boy winced at the thought, but nodded his head. He wasn’t going to abandon Jim. Jim wouldn’t hurt him, Jim was…Jim. “I’ll be alright, Sherlock. I’ve got this,” he said, trying to act confident, though it was obvious by the questioning look Sherlock gave him that the Dom didn’t believe him. “I’m fine,” John insisted, pulling away from the soft hands caressing his cheeks.

Sherlock nodded once, then was pulled out of the room by his brother. “He’ll wake up in a few minutes. Be prepared, it’s possible he will be disoriented. The panic button is right over there,” she pointed to a red button on the wall, before following after the Holmes men.

John took a deep breath as he pulled up a chair to sit next to the head of Jim’s bed. He waited a couple minutes, just staring at Jim for any sign of movement, until he finally saw the young Sub’s eyes flutter.   

A little moan escaped Jim’s dry cracked lips. John leaned forward, his rear hovering just above the seat, and placed a hand on the Sub’s chest. “Jim?” he whispered, thinking it best to let the boy know he wasn’t alone in his dangerous trek to consciousness. When a few more rasps came from Jim’s throat, John reached over to grab a small cup of water with a straw, waiting for him to wake up a bit more. “It’s alright, Jim. It’s me, John.”

“J’hn,” he whined, his dark eyes finally opening to stare at the ceiling.

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me mate. I’m here,” John said, his voice a bit more upbeat at the sight of his friend coming out of the coma. Finally, eyes that were the darkest brown John had ever seen, looked over at him. Jim let out a small smile as he recognized his friend, then, as memories flooded the room with merciless waves, the Sub’s face sobered. “Here, drink,” he said, holding the straw up to Jim’s lips.

The boy drank greedily, not stopping until the entire cup was finished. “More?” John asked, but Jim shook his head, letting it plop back down on the bed. “Does anything hurt?”

“Umm,” Jim said thoughtfully, “my head is killing me, but I’m just a little sore…what happened?”

“You don’t remember?”

“I…I remember sitting on my bed reading a book and then there was this God awful pain at the back of my neck…then…Greg,” he said, though he didn’t seem remorseful he seemed…terrified.

“Greg’s fine,” John assured the young Sub.

“He’s here?” Jim asked, his eyes growing wide as he scooted to sit up on the bed. John put a hand on his chest to keep the boy down. Under his hand he could feel the rapid heartbeat coming from Jim at just the mention of Greg. “I didn’t stop him?!”

“Jim, Jim, you’re safe here, okay. I’m not going to let anyone hurt you,” John tried to reassure him, but the heart monitor was going crazy and tears started to prick the corners of Jim’s eyes.

“No, you don’t understand, John! You don’t understand!” Jim started to kick his legs, until John stood up and hovered over the boy, keeping strong hands on his shoulders.

“Then tell me, Jim. What did Greg do? Why did you try to shoot him?”

“He…he...” Jim stuttered, his face scrunching up as he dug for the information John was asking for. “I…have to stop him and Mycroft. I have to!”

“But why Jim? What did you see? Did he say something to you?”

The boy under him looked so confused. There was anger, fear, hurt, and more fear flickering through those dark eyes. “They’ll kill us all, John! Can’t you see it? Can’t you feel it?” he shuttered.

“No, Jim, I don’t feel it,” John told him honestly. He removed his hands and used them to cradle his head when he sat back down. “Everything is fine. Greg and Mycroft aren’t going to hurt you. They just want to help, I promise.”

“I know…” Jim paused, squeezing his eyes together in pain. The monitors in the room beeped a couple of times and Jim’s heart monitor spiked for a brief moment.

“Are you alright?” he asked, not sure what that meant.

“You can’t trust Greg, John. You can’t!” he said, with renewed vigor. “I’ll kill him myself if I have to.”

“Jim,” John gasped at his friend’s revelation. He had never seen the boy act this way, even when he wanted to go back and kill the auction staff who tried to sell Molly. That was just angry wishing, but now, the look in Jim’s eyes told the older Sub that yes, he was going to try and kill Greg and Mycroft.

Before John could say anything else, a knock came at the door. Both Subs looked towards the noise to see Sherlock slinking inside, the most unassuming John had ever seen him. “Is it alright if I come in?” he asked, his question directed towards Jim.

The young Sub glanced at John for confirmation, then nodded. Jim wasn’t aggressive towards the Dom, not yet at least, but he did curl up a little in the thick hospital blanket that Mycroft insisted upon. 

“How are you feeling, Jim?”

“Alright, I guess,” he said meekly.

“That’s good,” Sherlock nodded, coming to stand next to John. He put his hand on the back of his Sub’s neck, squeezing and massaging the flesh as his eyes studied Jim. “Are you scared of me?”

John looked up at Sherlock, cursing the man for having no sense of subtlety. But, he focused his attention back on Jim, wondering what the Sub was going to say.

Jim looked scared and unsure as his eyes flicked between John and Sherlock. Finally, he settled for nodding his head. John tensed, praying that the collar wasn’t making Jim want to kill all Doms. “Why, Jim?” John asked, standing up to put himself in between Jim and Sherlock, just in case the Sub tried to attack his Dom.

“He…He kidnapped you,” Jim said quietly, pulling his blanket up to his chin.

“He did,” John agreed, but kept his tone light, “but he’s never hurt me, Jim. There’s no reason to be scared of him, or any of the other Doms for that matter.”

“But you don’t want to hurt me, do you Jim?” Sherlock asked, stepping around John and leaning his face down right in front of Jim’s.

The boy pushed himself into his pillow, trying to get away from the tall Dom invading his space. “N-No, sir,” he stuttered out, going into protective mode instead of fight mode; which, John considered, was a good thing. Jim was scared of Sherlock, but for a valid reason that the young Sub could articulate, unlike his irrational hatred for Greg and Mycroft. _So, he’s not triggered to attack other Subs, or Doms that haven’t been programmed to use the collar. How could this have happened? And who?_

Sherlock continued to stare down at Jim, assessing the boy until John stepped in, feeling the young Sub had had enough. “That’s enough, Sherlock. He’s not going to hit you,” John said, putting a hand on Sherlock’s shoulder and applying slight pressure.

“It would appear that way. Hmm, interesting, but I suppose it makes sense.” Sherlock pulled away, and John could hear a deep sigh of relief from Jim. It wasn’t kind to let Sherlock intimidate a boy who had been through so much involving Doms, but it was the only way to test the boundaries of Jim’s madness. “I’ll leave you two,” he said to both Subs, but pulled John to the side and whispered, “prepare yourself. I’m sending Mycroft in next.”

John nodded and went to sit down next to Jim again. “You okay?” he asked.

“Yeah…umm, yeah,” he nodded uncertainly, but gave John a weak smile.

“I’m not going to let anyone hurt you, Jim. I promise.”

“You can’t stop a Dom,” Jim whispered, not looking John in the eye. There was such sadness and vulnerability in the boy’s voice, it broke John’s heart.

“Wanna bet,” John grinned and pushed Jim’s shoulder gently, playfully. “No Dom’s ever stopped us before when we were stealing their fancy shit. It’s their confidence that give us the upper hand, Jim, you know that. And like I said, you don’t have to be scared of Sherlock, Mycroft, or Greg. I don’t trust them completely yet, but I know for sure they don’t want to hurt us.”

Jim still looked unsure, but he finally looked at John. His big brown eyes looked almost black in the florescent light and the pasty white color of his skin reminded John of when he first found the Sub all crumpled up in a heap behind the rubbish bin. “You can’t trust Greg, John,” he whispered, but said nothing more when they heard a door open.

John turned around to see Mycroft standing in the doorway. The Dom had taken off his suit jacket, rolled up his dress shirt sleeves, and looked as unintimidating as possible for Mycroft Holmes. “John. Jim,” he greeted, inclining his head to both Subs.

“Hey, Mycroft,” John said in an overly jovial tone. Perhaps if Jim saw John wasn’t afraid or angry at the man, he wouldn’t be either. That wasn’t the case.

“What are you doing here?!” Jim shouted, scooting up on his bed, on the complete offensive as soon as the Dom entered the room.

“He just wanted to make sure you’re okay,” John jumped in quickly, putting a comforting hand on Jim’s shoulder.

“He’s here to kill me! And you too if you let him, John!” It was like someone had flipped a switch. The monitors started beeping, Jim continued to wince in pain, and the Sub looked both terrified and furious.

“No, no he’s not, Jim. Please,” he begged, putting a hand on Jim’s face to force him to make eye contact, “trust me. Mycroft is not going to hurt you.”

“You’re…”Jim’s eyes narrowed and his face contorted in pain, “you’re with him? You’re with him!” he said more confidently, and pulled away from John. “You both want to kill me! I knew it!”

“James,” Mycroft interjected, “why do I want to kill you?”

“I..I don’t have to answer to you, you…you…murderer!” At that, Jim started to rip the needles from his arms, frantic. John didn’t know if the Sub was trying to get away from them, or trying to get free in order to kill Mycroft. “You’ll kill all of us! That’s what she said!”

Both John’s and Mycroft’s eyes widened at the new information. _She? Who had Jim talked to? Was she talking to him through the collar?_

“Who said, Jim? Who said?” John asked, trying and failing to keep the boy in his bed. He was stronger than Jim of course, he had two years on the boy, but he didn’t want to hurt the Sub any more than was necessary…plus, he kind of wanted to see what he would do when he was free.

“She…she…I don’t…I doesn’t matter! But she told me what you and Greg were going to do and I won’t let you! I’ll die before I let you!” Jim screamed. His hospital gown flowed behind him as he charged Mycroft.

“Jim, no!” John shouted, holding a hand out, but it was too late.

Thankfully, Mycroft’s skill was at a level where he could be gentle, but still subdue the crazed teenager. Jim still limped slightly due to the light burn on his thigh, but he leapt through the air, his fist cocked behind him, and used the whole weight of his body to swing at Mycroft’s face. That’s when John realized, Jim really did intend to kill Mycroft; it wasn’t just a little built up anger, no, it was full on rage.

Mycroft simply grabbed the teenager’s fist, twisted it until Jim was forced to turn around, then wrapped his long arm around a skinny waist, pinning Jim’s other arm to his side. Jim kicked and screamed bloody murder, as fear danced through his features. It was clear that the Sub thought his neck was going to be snapped at any minute.

“Shh, shh,” Mycroft kept saying as he shifted Jim to where he could hold the Sub with one arm. “I’m not going to hurt you, Jim. Shh, I’m not going to hurt you.” John saw the Dom pull out a small syringe from his pocket and pluck the cap off with his teeth.

“Mycroft!” John shouted, unsure of what his friend was about to be injected with; a truth serum, a torture device, it could be anything for all John knew.

“It’s alright,” Mycroft cooed with the most gentlest of voices as Jim kept whining ‘nononono.’ He stuck the needle into Jim’s neck and pushed the plunger. Seconds later, Jim’s thrashing turned into uncoordinated twitches, and soon, into nothing.

Mycroft kept hold of the boy, picking him up under the legs and carrying him over to the bed. He gently and meticulously tucked the unconscious Sub back in before letting out a long frustrated sigh. “It was just a sedative,” Mycroft told John, who still looked on in horror at his friend.

“Take the collar off of him,” John demanded. “Now.” This wasn’t Jim, this wasn’t the boy who held Molly in his arms for twenty-four hours straight because the little girl was too terrified to stand on her own two feet, this wasn’t the boy who sat across from him around the fire and ate beans, this wasn’t Jim and John was through experimenting with his friend’s life.

Mycroft sighed, obviously unsure of what to do. Sherlock entered the room, pushing Greg in a wheel chair. The slightly graying Dom looked pissed that he had to be in a chair, but he looked even more pissed at the sight of his lover distressed and his Sub lying unconscious again. “What happened?” Greg asked.

“He attacked me,” Mycroft said bluntly, “he would tell John, Sherlock, or myself why he wanted you and me dead.”

“We’re getting that collar off him!” John reiterated, willing to take off the collar himself if he had to.

Greg stood up with a grunt, Mycroft coming to his side immediately. The grey haired Dom batted his lover’s hands away and slowly made his way over to Jim. He ran a hand through the Sub’s hair, bringing it down to cup his cheek. “John’s right,” Greg finally said.

“I understand you’re upset, Greg, but we need to get as much data as possible from the boy. If we remove the collar now, we might never be able to find the source,” Mycroft said, his voice sad, but stern.

“I don’t care!” John snapped. “It’s your fault this happened to Jim, and for all we know it’s killing him. Now call the doctors in here, and take it off!”

“John-” Mycroft started.

“I’ll wear one,” John blurted out. All eyes turned to him; Greg’s were sad, Mycroft’s assessing, and Sherlock…livid. “I-”

“No!” Sherlock snapped, glaring at John.

“Why not? If I know something is wrong, then maybe I can figure out what’s causing it.” It made sense to John, yeah, he could use the collar, and-

“NO!” Sherlock shouted. “You are not putting yourself in unnecessary risk like that. I won’t allow it.”

“You won’t allow it? Fuck, Sherlock, all you guys wanted to do from the first time you kidnapped me was collar me. I won’t have you use my friend as a guinea pig when you won’t even allow me to wear it!” John stuck his chest out and lifted his chin in an act to make himself look bigger and more confident. It usually…okay, never, worked on the Holmes Doms, but it was worth a try.

“We already have one Sub in our midst who is compromised. I will not allow for another,” Sherlock said, walking up to John and adopting the same posture as the Sub, only way way more intimidating. John didn’t cower back though, but merely shifted his eyes left and right to avoid perfect eye contact.

“Then take the collar off him!” John growled.

“Mycroft,” Greg said to the old Dom.

Mycroft sighed, then put a hand on his brother’s shoulder, pushing him away from John. “We will assess Jim’s brain activity once the doctor returns with the data. Until then, no one is getting a collar and we are not removing any collars.”

John growled and then huffed when he realized there was no way he was going to win a fight against three Doms. A surprised squeak erupted from John’s mouth as he was lifted into the air and carried out of the room. Sherlock had one arm wrapped around John’s middle, walking with the teenager feet a couple of inches off the ground and pressed against his body. “Sherlock!” John squawked, kicking his feet and batting his hands against Sherlock’s arm.

Suddenly, he was thrown into what looked like a janitor’s closet. Sherlock turned the light on and the next thing John knew he was being thrust up against the door, Sherlock’s hands pressing on his should and the man’s knee between his legs. “Sh-Sherlock?” he said, a bit afraid when the low light revealed angry, but desperately hungry eyes.

“Why do you do this to me?” Sherlock growled, pressing his forehead against John’s.

“What?” John asked, testing how much room he had to escape. He wasn’t scared of Sherlock, well, at least he knew the man wouldn’t stab him in the gut, but the way the man looked at him stirred something in John that felt like a different kind of fear.

“I understand Mycroft’s actions and why he insists on taking care of you and Jim to ensure his project is a success, Lestrade is an open book with his damn overactive paternal instincts, and even Jim with that rigged collar I understand. But you…you are an anomaly to me and it is driving me insane! Why do you always sacrifice yourself?! Why?!” Sherlock slammed his hands against the wall on either side of John’s head.

The boy flinched, his eyes growing wide and his hands starting to shake. “I just…I don’t know.”

“You had a collar ripped out of your spine, almost drowned saving Mycroft, been blown up, ran into a FUCKING burning building to save everyone, you have…nightmares that make you scream like you’re dying, and now you want to put a collar on that will cause you to go mad! All while I…” Sherlock closed his eyes, letting most of the weight from his forehead fall onto John.

“You what?” John asked, concerned that he’d never seen this much emotion from the Dom.

“I can’t do anything! I’m helpless watching you thrash around in your sleep. It is my job to protect you and I can’t do that when you insist on being so infuriatingly…stupid.”

“Pulling people from icy water or burning buildings isn’t stupid, Sherlock! You and your brother wouldn’t be alive if I wasn’t so ‘stupid.’”

Sherlock growled and gripped the sides of John’s face, hard. “You…you said you loved me,” the Dom whimpered, a tone John had never heard from the deep baritone voice. “Why do you want to die if you said you love me?”

“Sherlock,” John paused, looking into the man’s eyes. They had never said it to one another when they were both lucid. It was always stuck somewhere in purgatory, waiting to be claimed and brought to light. “I-I don’t want to die and…I do love you.”

Sherlock’s head shot up and he pulled away from John’s face, his eyes comically wide with shock. “You-you do?”

John nodded, a small smile on his face as the weight was lifted off his shoulders. He loved Sherlock, HE LOVED SHERLOCK HOLMES God help him. The way the man put his lips right next to John’s ear when he cooed to him, the way he always purposely spilt crumbs on himself so John would have to clean them off, the way he would growl at his brother when he would smack John on the back of the head, the way he absentmindedly hummed when he stroked John belly before they fell asleep, and especially the way he made John feel safe, even when he was shivering on the ground going into hypothermic shock. Yes, he loved the man who kidnapped him and brought him to his knees.

A bright smile came to the Dom’s face and in the next moment, John was being pulled in to a deep kiss. Sherlock’s tongue didn’t demand anything. Instead, the Dom coaxed John into opening his mouth and allowing the man entrance. It was warm and wet and, oh God, the sounds coming from Sherlock made John’s cock stiffen in his trousers.

His hips had a mind of their own it seemed as they bucked into Sherlock, who grabbed John’s hips and dug his fingertips into the flesh. “Sherlock,” John gasped when the man moved his lips to the Sub’s neck.

“I’m never letting you go,” Sherlock growled, nipping at John’s throat enough to leave little red marks. “Never. You’re too stubborn for your own good, but I’m gonna take care of you.” Sherlock kept babbling about keeping John and taking care of him, but the Sub was more focused on his body as the Dom grabbed the hem of his shirt and lifted it over his head.

John felt naked and exposed, but when he felt the warmth and scratching sensation from Sherlock’s dress shirt, all his teenage bashfulness was forgotten. “Love you, love you so much,” John heard himself saying. It was as if all the emotions he had hid away were now spewing out, excited there was no longer a filter.

Sherlock put his hands under John’s bum and lifted him up in to the air. Immediately, John wrapped his legs around the skinny waist, letting their groins rub together in delicious friction. The Dom’s face was pressed into John’s chest, his hot breath moistening the Sub’s flesh, when they heard a click.

John gasped and bucked forward at the sound of someone at the door. Sherlock was too top heavy at the moment and lost his balance, falling backwards and landing in a pile of paper napkins. John’s fall was cushioned by Sherlock, and he was now lying completely on top of the Dom, his face pressed into the crook of the man’s neck.

The door opened to reveal an old man in a janitor’s uniform holding a mop and rolling bucket. “Oh, umm,” he said, his eyes growing wide in embarrassment. “Sorry, doctors. Usually they do this sort of stuff in the on-call room. Guess it’s all full up, eh?” the man laughed. “Sorry, sorry, don’t mind me, gentlemen. As you were.”

The door closed, leaving the two men in an awkward silence. Then, John broke it with a full belly laugh. “Dr. Holmes, paging Dr. Holmes! Ha!” he chuckled, rolling off of Sherlock, who started to laugh as well. They both continued their antics until they were wheezing, then Sherlock rolled over to hover over John.

The man cupped his cheek gently and peered down at him with intense eyes. “I meant every word I said, John. I’m not going to let you go and I’m not going to let you destroy yourself for others. I don’t share and I won’t allow anyone to harm what is mine, not even you.”

John laughed a little more, getting it out of his system, then refocused his gaze on the man above him. “I know, Sherlock, I meant it to. But,” he added, “if I’m yours, then you’re mine.” _My Dom…holy shit, I never thought I’d say those words._

“Deal,” Sherlock smiled, bending down to plant a small kiss on John’s swollen lips.

“And!” John said, pushing Sherlock away and looking for his shirt, “I reserve the right to be as stubborn as I want.”

“We’ll see about that,” Sherlock narrowed his eyes, but stood up, offering John a hand.

“You know you love it,” the Sub chuckled, throwing his shirt over his head and readjusting the slowly waning stiffness in his trousers. “We better get back before the doctor shows up with Jim’s test results.”

The two walked back into the room. John tried to act as casual as possible and not draw any attention to the little bruises forming on his throat. It didn’t work though when both Doms looked at them and rolled their eyes.

 “You’ve got to be bloody kidding me,” Greg laughed, clutching his side.

“Have you no shame, little brother?” Mycroft asked, walking over to John and grabbing the boy’s chin. John yanked his head, but the Dom just held on and clicked his tongue, examining the bruises. John did note how the man forced eye contact, ensuring John was a willing participant. In the end, he rolled his eyes and stepped back to his lover’s side.

“Bunch’a horny teenagers,” Greg said, but he didn’t seem angry or disgusted; strangely enough, he seemed relieved…and a bit high. “Hey,” he said, grabbing for Mycroft’s bum, but was intercepted by the Dom’s hand instead “why don’t you bugger me in closets anymore?!”

John let out a bark of a laugh, but slapped his hand over his mouth when Mycroft gave him a threatening glare.

“You’ll have to excuse, Gregory. The nurses have put him on ‘the good stuff’ as they say and it seems his good sense has been diminished.”

“Later then?” Greg asked hopefully, his eyes half lidded, but the love and adoration clear.

Mycroft paused for a moment, debating what he should say. Then, with a smile, he nodded. “Later.”

“Good, ‘cause they took me here in an ambulance and that’s a perfect place to-”

“Gregory!” Mycroft chastised, but the smile on his face said differently.

The relaxing atmosphere was interrupted with a knock at the door. “That must be Jim’s doctor,” Mycroft said.

Everyone sobered, and John pulled on his shirt collar, trying to hide the marks. He felt awkward and somewhat guilty at the fact he had just made out with Sherlock while his friend was in a coma. _Jesus John, quit thinking with your dick._ The Sub took a step away from Sherlock and prepared himself for what the doctor would tell them about Jim.   


	12. The Long Winding Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John learns a little about Sherlock and Mycroft's history and makes a big decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry I missed Sunday's update. I'm still getting used to my job and trying to find the best time to sit down and write. Hopefully in a couple of weeks I'll have a routine down and the updates will come more regularly. Thanks for your patience in the mean time.
> 
> This is a nice fluffy chapter to prepare you for the darker stuff that is to come! So enjoy it while you can. 
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 12 – The Long Winding Road

The room grew silent as an older woman in long white coat came into the room. She had long blonde hair that frizzed out in all different directions and thick black frame glasses that hid squinty blue eyes. All in all, John thought the woman made a better flower child or crazy cat lady than doctor. “Oh my, well look at all these handsome young men waiting for me! Mycroft dear, how are you?”

“I’ve been better, Samantha. Thank you for taking time out of your schedule to take Jim’s case,” Mycroft said, bowing his head slightly, but keeping a comforting hand on Greg’s shoulder. “I believe you know DI Lestrade and my brother, Sherlock,” he gestured to the tall gangly man standing next to John.

“Yes of course,” Samantha said with a wide smile, “still a pale skeleton I see.” John thought the doctor was going to ruffle Sherlock’s hair for a moment, but the woman just patted his shoulder gently. “I remember this scrawny little thing being dragged in here by his big brother to see me when he was just five years old! Scared to death he was! Hiding behind Mycroft’s trousers! Such an adorable little lad,” she gave a hearty laugh; one that made John smile a little at hearing about Sherlock as a child. He could only imagine what a little terror the Dom must have been. And oh God, what about Mycroft as a child?! 

“Thank you, Dr. Meyers, for that lovely walk down memory lane,” Mycroft cut in before Sherlock could snap at the old woman. John could see his Dom’s shoulders tense, so the Sub took a step closer and put a tentative hand on the man’s forearm. “But I believe we are very anxious to hear about Jim’s results.”

“Oh, of course, of course,” Dr. Meyers said, opening the manila folder in her hand and making a slight humming sound. “During the first test with…”she trailed off, looking around the room until her eyes fell upon John. “You must be John!” she exclaimed, as if John was the most interesting person in the world.

“Yes,” Sherlock said, almost defensively. “This is ‘my’ Sub, John Watson.” The Dom put his arm around John’s shoulders, pulling the Sub in close whether he liked it or not.

“Well aren’t you two lovely,” she said with a smile. “Your mother always said you had a soft spot for blonds. Who was that little girl you used to chase around when you were in first year? She was darling! Never cried when her mum brought her in for vaccinations, if memory serves.”

John let out a bark of a laugh, looking up at Sherlock. Surprisingly, the pale skin on the man’s cheekbones was now a soft pink hue. “Umm, yes ma’am,” John broke in, “I’m John. It’s nice to meet you. I guess you’ve known the Holmeses for a while now.”

“Indeed I have! I knew Mycroft when he was just a little pudge-ball with blue eyes.” At that, Greg laughed so hard, his breathing turned into wheezing as he clutched his side in agony.     

“The results, Dr. Meyers!” Mycroft snapped, the same color of pink tinting his cheeks as well.

The old doctor huffed, but turned her attention back to the chart. “During the first test with John, it appears there was no abnormal brain activity. The same with trial two where Sherlock attempted to instigate a reaction. Then,” she paused, adjusting her glasses as if the results she was seeing weren’t right, “when Mycroft entered the room Jim’s reading went off the charts.”

“What kind of readings?” Greg asked, now back in his wheelchair after Mycroft basically manhandled him into the seat.

“The part of the brain, the pons as it’s called, responsible for REM sleep and thus associated with dreams…and, consequently, nightmares, looked like a firework show when Mycroft made his presence known.”

“So…you’re saying Jim was having a nightmare while he was awake?” John asked, confused. The boy was acting strange, but a nightmare?

“Not quite,” Sherlock interrupted before the doctor could explain. “I believe what Dr. Meyers is trying to say is the collar was causing Jim to hallucinate. I am assuming both the visual and auditory sections of his brain were also overly active during this time. Much the same way as epileptic patients are triggered; Jim was triggered by some sort of electrical pulse from the collar, yes?”

“Very good, Sherlock! You inherited your mother’s talent for deduction, I see,” Dr. Meyers praised as if Sherlock was a child who had just made a macaroni painting. “Yes, it appears the collar sends a small amount of electricity through Jim’s brain stem, causing many of the pathways in his mind to cross and confuse reality with fiction…and in this case, his worst nightmares if the rise in heart rate and blood pressure means anything.”

“But how?” John asked, “I mean…how is that even possible? Why does it only react to Mycroft and Greg?”

“Well, we will need to run further tests, but the collar is basically a computer,” Mycroft said, “I would assume someone was able to hack into the device and-”

“Wait!” John said, feeling his anger rise. “You’re telling me Jim’s brain has been hacked by someone who wants to kill you and Greg?! You’re telling me you attached something to his spine that anyone with a laptop can connect to?!”

“It is how we are able to send updates out to Subs’ collars,” Mycroft defended. “The software is scanned and updated once a week to ensure optimal accuracy when distinguishing between Dominant’s voices. Also, it allows us to collect data in order to improve the product for future Subs.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” John groaned, putting his face in his hands.

“That one’s got a mouth on him, Sherlock. I see why you like him. My Peter was rather feisty in his younger years as well. He would sass at me just so I’d pay him some attention, God rest his soul. Such a sweet man,” Dr. Meyers said, closing the folder and fixing John with an assessing stare. Though she seemed a bit eccentric, the intelligence behind her eyes rivaled that of Mycroft and Sherlock. John looked away from her immediately, going back to focus on Jim.

“What about the woman?” John asked, remembering what Jim had said about a woman telling him Mycroft and Greg were going to kill the Subs. “Can someone send messages through the collar? Messages straight to Jim’s brain?”

“I suppose it’s possible. It could be done through binary code, then translated through the collar. From what I’ve seen, this piece of hardware is quite sophisticated,” Dr. Meyers answered. “Extraordinary if you ask me. Mycroft, I believe you might have taken the first giant leap in aiding our little ones.”

Mycroft’s blush actually deepened at the praise, which was quite a sight to see. But John didn’t care! This technology was killing his friend, and this stupid lady was congratulating Mycroft. “What do you mean?!” John snapped at her.

“John,” Sherlock warned, squeezing the back of the Sub’s neck rather hard.

“Someone just hacked into this FOURTEEN YEAR OLD’S brain because of this stupid collar. They tried to make Jim an assassin and you’re telling me this is a ‘giant leap?’ And for ‘little ones?’ Who the fuck do you think you are?”

“John!” Sherlock, Mycroft, and Greg all snapped at the young Sub, who was now posturing towards the doctor. John’s threatening body language didn’t seem to do any good, even though Dr. Meyers was his same height. The woman just stood there, relaxed, with a patient and kind smile on her face, peering at John through her glasses.

“I’m very sorry, Samantha,” Mycroft said, glaring at John before bowing his head again to the doctor. “John is still new to being a Sub. You see, we found him on the street and-”

“Oh, I know where John came from,” she said, putting the file down at the foot of Jim’s bed. “He’s a tough young man, it seems. Taking care of Jim, living on the streets for so long, and not to mention being able to handle two Holmes men at the same time. I would expect him to be a little spitfire.”

“Yes, well, we are still in the process of grinding those rough edges down,” Mycroft said, matter-of-factly.

 “Oh, now, your mother taught you better than that, Mycroft Holmes,” Dr. Meyers scolded, slowly walking over to stand in front of John. The Sub leaned back a bit, but kept his feet rooted to their spot, unwilling to give up any ground. “Those jagged edges are there so only people with the same cracks can get close enough to touch smooth parts, isn’t that right, John?

“Ma’am,” John whispered, unsure of what to do as her calming voice halted his oncoming rage.

“I know right now, in the fragile beginnings, it seems like one misstep is impossible to fix and will surely lead to a tragic ending. But,” she said, reaching up a hand to brush her knuckles gently against John’s cheek, “I assure you, many inventors and revolutionaries thought their small failures would be the end of their quest, as well. And you know what? They took what they learned from their mistakes and fixed them. It’s as simple as that, John Watson; instead of pointing fingers, fix the mistake. You’ll find yourself much, much…happier,” she said, after searching for the right word, “if you fix. The. Problem.”

John swallowed deeply, his Adam’s apple bobbing, giving away the nervous reflex. “I…”

“So tell me, can you fix the problem?” she asked, giving one last stroke to John’s cheek before stepping back and grabbing Jim’s file.

“I want to put on the collar,” John blurted out. He hunched his shoulders when Sherlock squeezed his neck too hard. The Dom gave a slight growl, but didn’t say anything to oppose John’s statement.

“That’s an interesting idea,” Dr. Meyers said, nodding.

“One that does not deserve an ounce of our time,” Sherlock scoffed. “We can track where the signal came from. I’m sure we can track down the source of the hackers that way.”

“I already ran it past my people,” Mycroft said, “the trail ended up cold, I’m afraid. Sherlock…” Mycroft took a step away from Greg to reach out and put a hand on his brother’s shoulder.

“No!”

“It’s the only way,” John told him, trying to pull away, but Sherlock’s grip was iron. The Sub arched his neck to look up at the man, widening his big blue eyes. “I’ll know what to look for. And when ‘she’ speaks to me, I can tell someone. You can watch me; keep an eye on me so I don’t hurt Mycroft. It’ll be fine, Sherlock…trust me.”

Sherlock was still, his muscles rigid under his black dress shirt. When he looked down at John, his eyes betrayed his fear as large grey eyes seemed to quiver at the thought of John putting on the collar. “It will be fine, Sherlock,” Mycroft said gently. “We know the proper precautions to take this time. No harm will come to me or John, and hopefully, we will be able to learn the source of the hack either from John or from the new update we’ve downloaded into the collar.”

“This is what we have to do to fix the collar, Sherlock,” John whispered. He could still taste the slight sweetness and some flavor that was purely Sherlock on his lips. He could still feel the pressure on his hips, the hands on his bum, the nips on his neck. John felt like Sherlock was always a part of him now, always with him, and that was why he felt safe enough to put on this collar. Sherlock would take care of him no matter what.

The tall Dom finally took a deep breath and looked up, away from John. “John will never leave my side once the collar is activated. You will not be allowed near any sharp object, nor-”

“Oh please, brother, John will not be able to harm me with both of us on our guard. One of us is sure to spot any change in his behavior easily,” Mycroft said, putting his hands on his hips.

“We’ll be careful, Sherlock,” John reassured the Dom…his Dom. A strange itchy feeling prickled his skin when his Dom was upset. John didn’t like it…but, it did let him know when he needed to take care of Sherlock, so that was good.

“Fine,” Sherlock nodded curtly, “is the collar ready?”

“Yes,” Dr. Meyers said, the same smile on her face. It was as if she knew the outcome even before Mycroft. John didn’t even want to think that there were more people out there who were as perceptive as the Holmeses. “Come with me, John. I’ll take you down to the operating room. Sherlock,” she said, holding up a hand to stop the Dom from interrupting, “I will bring you in when we have John prepped.”

“Let’s get you back to your room, Gregory,” Mycroft said, grabbing the handles of the wheelchair.

“No,” Greg protested, “I’m staying with Jim.” Mycroft gave the older man a glare that usually made John whimper, but Greg just stared straight back until his lover backed down.

Mycroft sighed and rolled his eyes, as if he was indulging Greg like a child. “As you wish. Come, Sherlock. Dr. Meyers, we will meet you and John down in the secure operating room.” The older Dom grabbed his brother by the arm, squeezed John’s neck reassuringly as he passed, then left John alone with the doctor, Greg, and Jim.

“Let’s go, love,” she said, wrapping her arm under John’s like they were about to walk down the aisle. “Gregory, you behave yourself.” The grey haired Dom gave a weak smile before intertwining his fingers with Jim’s. “Good man, he is,” Dr. Meyers said when they reached the lift.

“Yeah, he really takes care of Jim and Molly,” John said. It was true, Greg didn’t have to take in two rogue Subs, one who was a criminal and had RDD and the other a little girl who would require more and more attention that a single man would no doubt be overwhelmed by as she got older. Yeah, Greg was okay in John’s book, even if he was a Dom who worked for the police.

“Sherlock and Mycroft seem to take care of you, as well,” she said nonchalantly, keeping her eyes focused on the metal door of the lift.

John just grumbled, shifting uncomfortably. They sort of did, he guessed; if you could call shocking him with a collar ‘taking care’ of him, then yeah, sure. _Well they do feed me, bathe me, and overall care for my wellbeing, so…_ John tried to swallow down his pride and stubbornness, but the pill was too big and only caused him to grumble more.

“So you’ve known them for a very long time?” John asked when they stepped out of the lift. She led him down a long hallway until they reached an operation room similar to the one he’d been in when they put his collar back on after it had been ripped out.

“I have. We’ll need you to take off your shirt. Would you like a gown to cover you?” she said, picking up a tan gown.

“No thanks,” John said, having no use for the thin material. He took his shirt off easily, but stood very still, holding his shirt close to his stomach.

“Have they always been like this?”

“Like what, dear?” Dr. Meyers asked, a small smile on her face as she adjusted a few metal trays.

“You know, cold possessive bastards who think they rule the world and can tell your whole life story just by looking at you,” John explained, going to lay face down on the table. He knew the drill. Lowering himself down slowly, John felt cold as his bare chest hit the thin paper covering the bed.

“Oh, that,” she laughed, placing a soft wrinkly hand on the middle of his back. “No, they weren’t always like that…well, at least Sherlock wasn’t. Mycroft always had an air of superiority about him. I met Mycroft when he was just five years old,” she laughed good naturedly. “The little bugger tried to Dom me and he hadn’t even presented yet.”

“Ha! No way!” John laughed, not even noticing the cold tingly feeling of antiseptic being applied to his nape.

“And Sherlock, bless his heart, the poor boy was scared of his own shadow from the day he was born. Always hiding behind his mother…that is, until he was ten.” The room grew silent, save for the slight shuffling of other people entering the room. John wanted to pop his head up to see, but the hand on his back let him know everything was safe.

“What…what happened?”

“Poor dears were devastated after Maude’s death. I’d say that’s when the boys started developing…anti-social behaviors. The little gibber jabber used to tell me about every type of soil in the garden and bring me a little flower every appointment. Then…well, then he didn’t.”

“Oh,” was all John could say. He had parents, no matter how fucked up they were, they were still alive. He hadn’t had to deal with the loss of the ones who created him. Sherlock must have been devastated.

“But, those boys are resilient and they learned to lean on one another. They do mean well though, and they’ve learned to protect what they find dear…and I believe that’s you, John.”

“Oh,” John said again, oblivious to the hands prodding his neck and the other people talking in the room.

“You should consider yourself lucky, or at least special. I haven’t seen that spark in either of those boy’s eyes since Maude was alive. And that DI, yes, he’s done Mycroft more good than I ever thought possible. Sweet man. Handsome too.”

“Oh,” he said once more. John didn’t know what to think. It was pretty cool to be important to someone, but it was a hell of a lot of responsibility, too. He made Sherlock happy. He made Mycroft happy. That was a good thing…yeah, John decided, that was a very good thing. A very good thing that he could handle.

“Not the most eloquent Sub, are you little one?” she asked, chuckling, but still stroking her hand comfortingly along John’s spine. “Ah, here they are. Best keep this conversation to ourselves, John. The Holmeses aren’t really the sharing type.”

“John, are you okay?” Sherlock asked, coming right to his side. The familiar hand plopped itself on the back of John’s head and began playing with the shaggy blond hair.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine. Can we just do this thing? It’s getting cold in here,” John said, trying to focus on the here and now, not what little Sherlock would have been like and how scared that little boy must have been when his mum died.

“Of course,” Dr. Meyers said from somewhere behind him, “Sherlock, go ahead and administer the bliss.”

Sherlock placed his hand on John’s lower back, and two other hands grabbed each ankle. _Mycroft?_ Suddenly, John was floating. He was slightly aware of the slight groan that escaped his lips as the bliss took him. A little boy with bouncy brown curls and a little gray school uniform walked up to him as John lay in the grass. The pale face looked down at him curiously. His eyes were red rimmed and his lip seemed to tremble slightly.

“Hey,” John said lazily, holding out his hand. Without hesitation, the little boy clasped his hand and went to lie down next to John. “It’s gonna be okay,” John said, feeling too lethargic to do anything else.

“How do you know?” the boy asked, the same petulant tone John had heard Sherlock use on Mycroft more than once.

John had to think about his answer for a moment. The words floated above his head until he was able to grasp them and form them in to a proper sentence. “’Cause…’cause we have each other.”

John felt a little arm wrap around his stomach and a head rest on his chest, the long brown hairs tickling his nose. “Don’t leave me, okay?” the vulnerable high pitched voice asked, scared and wavering.

“Okay.”            

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, some of you might be like..."Hey, Katie! Why isn't the title a Guns n Roses song?" Weeell, it seems the only songs left don't really fit my story, as they are mostly about women. So, I've switched to The Beatles...however, I do reserve the right to use Knocking on Heaven's Door when the story calls for it. Anyways, I hope you enjoyed the chapter!


	13. It's Been a Hard Day's Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John learns what it's like to wear the new collar. Sherlock is dealing with feelings for the first time in a long time. 
> 
> PREVIOUSLY ON CHEMICAL REACTION: Jim's collar, created by Mycroft, convinced him Greg and Mycroft wanted to kill him. Jim shot Greg in the side, so they end up in the hospital. When questioned, Jim said a 'woman' in the collar told him Greg wanted to kill him. After running tests, they believe the collar is forcing Jim's nightmares to merge with reality, while his brain is being hacked. 
> 
> Sherlock and John got a bit frisky in the broom closet and confessed their love for each other, before John went to have the same collar Jim used put on his neck. 
> 
> Oh yeah, and Sherlock and Mycroft had a crap[y childhood and are emotionally stunted because their mother died, so John understands the Holmes men a bit more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time, no see!
> 
> So, yeah, I kinda had to start being a grown up and get a grown up job that takes 45 hours a fucking week. Needless to say, the last thing I want to do after working on a computer all day is come home and write on a computer. BUT! I have been slowly but surly working my way through this chapter. 
> 
> I have no idea how long it's going to be between chapters and I really, really do apologize for that. I'll add a 'previously on,' section every time I update, because I know I have to go back and review the last couple of chapters on fics I read that take a while to update. 
> 
> Okay, I'll stop apologizing so you guys can read what I've made you wait for, for too many weeks. Enjoy and thank you so much for your patience...oh wait, two more things; read the updated tags and this is NOW BETA'D! Thank you TPurr!

Chapter 13 – It’s been a Hard Day’s Night

“Open your eyes for me, John,” someone called down to him as he lay on the grass. The sky was a bright blue, which was strange because John could have sworn it was February and he was in London. Soft grass itched at his skin and crinkled below him as he shifted to get more comfortable. The little boy with short brown wavy hair stood up from being draped over John’s torso, leaving the older Sub a little bit colder.

“Where’re you going?” John mumbled, reaching at a hand to grab the boy’s, but all he grasped was air. It was perfect here; warm and safe, with no one who wanted to run tests on him or punish him.

“It’s time to wake up now, John,” the boy said, except his voice was not that of a prepubescent. The deep baritone filled his little peaceful world, shaking it so much that the leaves began to fall off the trees.

John groaned and shook his head back and forth at the command. The tranquil world he was in began to melt like the wax of a candle. “Noooo, Sherlock don’t go,” he whined, reaching out his hand as far as he could, but the little boy continued to walk away until he too melted.

Upset, John slowly opened his eyes to see the little boy who had grown up into a man with the same inquisitive yet lonely eyes and thick brown curls. Sherlock looked worried, though he always seemed to look worried when it came to John, but the corner of his lips twitched when he saw the young Sub open his eyes. “I’m right here, John. I’m not going anywhere,” the Dom reassured him as he ran a hand through John’s hair.

Finally realizing what he had just seen was the bliss fucking with his mind, John wrinkled up his nose and tried to act like the hand on his head didn’t feel ridiculously amazing. The problem was, the three other people in the room weren’t fools and, according to Sherlock, John was a horrible actor.

“How are you feeling, John?” Dr. Meyers asked from the end of his bed. She didn’t look up from the tablet she was holding in her hand. John hoped she was looking at his chart and not playing candy crush, which apparently was the best game ever because he had to hear about it every time he talked to Molly.

He didn’t answer for a moment as he took stock of his body. He could feel his toes, _thank God_ , his…yep, his dick was still there, _thank you thank you God!_ His stomach felt fine, his chest, his arms, and even his neck didn’t hurt that bad; a little ache at the base of his skull, but nothing horrible. “I’m…I’m okay,” John nodded slowly, agreeing with himself.

“Any neck pain? Headache?”

“My neck hurts just a little, but my head’s alright.”

“Your head was never right, mate,” a familiar voice said from the doorway. John’s eyes grew wide in disbelief when he saw Jim sitting in a wheelchair with a tired smile on his face. Greg pushed the boy further into the room, glancing at Mycroft, who had a disapproving look in his eye.

“Gregory, you shouldn’t be pushing around a wheelchair. It’s been less than 24 hours since you were-”

“I’m fine,” Greg cut him off to avoid upsetting Jim. “The boys needed to see each other, My.”

Both John and Jim tried to get up from their resting positions to embrace one another, but were stopped by their Doms. John felt like they were two puppies who just wanted to play with each other, but their owners held them back because they thought they knew best. John grunted and strained against the large hand on his chest. When he tried to glare at Sherlock though, he relented when he saw the intense look in the Dom’s eyes.

With a huff, John settled back in his hospital bed and smiled at Jim who was giving Greg the same frustrated look. For the first time, John noticed Jim’s collar was gone. “It’s gone!” John exclaimed, looking over to Mycroft in disbelief.

The tall Dom merely bowed his head towards the Sub. “There was nothing to gain from leaving Jim collared. Unfortunately, he has no insight as to why he acted out towards Gregory and myself.”

“Nothing?” John asked. He didn’t mean to sound like he was accusing the other Sub of lying, but when Jim lowered his head, John sighed. “That’s okay, Jim. Maybe I’ll be able to remember something now that I know it’s coming.”

At those words, the hand that was still on his chest moved to his shoulder and squeezed rather hard. “B-But I’ll be alright,” John tried to reassure everyone, even himself. He looked up at Sherlock for confirmation and only received a blank stare.

The awkward silence that took over the room was interrupted by Dr. Meyers. “I believe the next step is to calibrate young John’s collar to your voice, Mycroft.”

“Yes, of course,” the man said, stepping forward and grabbing the tablet offered by the doctor. “John,” Mycroft said, his tone neutral, “lift your left arm.”

As Mycroft tapped a few times on the tablet, John’s eyes rolled back in his head. Bliss like nothing John had ever felt before flooded his body, making his tongue go numb and even the muscles in his eye lids drooped. The only tension left in his body was the automatic reaction of lifting his left arm into the air.

“That’s too high, Mycroft, turn it down!” Sherlock snapped at his brother, lifting John’s eye lid with his thumb.

“There we go,” Mycroft whispered as he swiped his finger against the glass again. “John, put your arm back down.”

This time, John felt bliss, but it was more like a soft light caressing his skin and coaxing him to put his arm back on the bed.

“How do you feel, John?” Dr. Meyers asked.

John just grumbled as he tried to open his eyes. At Mycroft’s words, lead weights seemed to attach themselves to his lids and appendages. He didn’t want to answer, he just wanted to float.

“John,” Mycroft said, his voice stern, “answer Dr. Meyers.”

“Good,” John said automatically, the words rolling of his tongue like melted butter. “I feel like I’m floating. Don’t wanna come down.”

“I know, John, I know. But I’m afraid I need you lucid for our ride home.” John felt someone stroking his cheek, though he didn’t know who. The hand was soft, the fingers long, and the touch more gentle than one would offer a baby bird.

“Come back to me, John,” Sherlock said, his voice close to John’s ear.

With that, John’s eyes fluttered open to see everyone staring at him, save for Jim, who had lost focus and was playing with the strings on his gown. It wasn’t so bad being lucid, in the here and now, with the Holmeses, with this collar around his neck… _it’s not so bad. I can handle it._ It was pretty fucking ridiculous though, how easily John was hooked on bliss. He had spent his whole life without it, dealt with the harsh realities of life without the help of a Dom, and now… _fucking hell, John._

“Your vitals look good, John, and the collar seems to be fully synced up,” Dr. Meyers said. “As long as you take it easy,” she narrowed her eyes at Sherlock, who gave the most unconvincing innocent look in response, “I’ll allow Mycroft to take you home.”

“Thank you Samantha,” Mycroft nodded his head. “Gregory, why don’t you take Jim back to his room to get ready to leave. I’ll have a car take you to 221.”

“What?” Greg said, “no, My. There is not enough room for me, Jim, and Molly at your place; the mansion maybe, but not the flat. No, we will be fine by ourselves. We’ll take care of each other,” Greg said softly, squeezing Jim’s shoulder.

“Gregory, I must insist-”

“They’ll be fine, Mycroft,” Sherlock interjected. “Plus, it will be safer the fewer Doms John is around now that he has his collar. We don’t know how he’s going to react.”

John looked up at Sherlock, whose face was expressionless. The Sub knew about walls, he had based his life off of building the tallest and strongest, and that is exactly what Sherlock was doing. He had gone completely into logical mode, no feelings, nothing, just facts. That was okay though, John couldn’t blame him; after all, John wished he could do the same.

“We’ll be fine, Mycroft,” Greg reassured him as he wheeled Jim out of the room.

“Bye, John!” Jim shouted as he disappeared around the corner.

“Bye,” John whispered, more to himself than to the other Sub. “Can we just go home?”

“Yes, I think that is best,” Mycroft said, “I’ll go sign the paper work for your release while you get dressed. Sherlock, help him get dressed…and nothing more, is that understood?”

“Yes,” Sherlock sighed dramatically as if he would never do anything his brother was insinuating.

It all happened rather quickly. Sherlock stood John up, took off his gown, and pulled fresh clothes over his tired body. Then, they were in Mycroft’s car with Sherlock’s hand squeezing the life out of his knee. “Sherlock,” John grunted, “let go.”

The Dom just stared forward, his hand squeezing the Sub’s bones under his fingers. “Sherlock…ow!” John grunted again, this time gripping the man’s arm and trying to pull away. At that, Mycroft intervened. The eldest Holmes grabbed his brother’s arm until his knuckles went white.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft said, “let go, now.” Mycroft actually had to pry the man’s fingers off one by one, until finally, Sherlock relented and pulled his hand away. “I need your head in the game for this, Sherlock. Or can’t you handle it?”

“I don’t need your patronizing,” the younger Dom snapped. As soon as the car stopped, though they weren’t even at Baker Street yet, Sherlock opened the door and jumped out, slamming it behind him.

“Sherlock!” John squeaked, lunging towards the door to go after his Dom. Before his hand reached the handle though, Mycroft grabbed him around the shoulders with an iron grip.

“No, John, leave him be,” Mycroft said. As soon as the words hit John’s ears, the Sub became boneless against the man. John was sure he looked something akin to a landed fish, or perhaps a bird with a wounded wing trying to take flight. “He’ll meet us at Baker Street in his own time.”

John could only grunt in response as Mycroft’s arms encircled him, keeping him close to the man’s warm chest. A small whine made its way out of John’s chest, earning him a soothing hand rubbing circles on his chest. John had started believing bliss might’ve been a good thing, but right now, it was keeping him in a zombie state.

“I know these next couple of days are going to be hard for everyone,” Mycroft continued as the car started moving again. “Sherlock cares for you deeply, as do I, but it seems my brother has invested his whole heart in you, John, and he is afraid of losing it…losing you.”

“I won’t hurt him,” John was able to say, the bliss warming his muscles starting to wear off.

“No, not intentionally, but you might not have a choice.”

“We all have a choice, Mycroft,” John snapped as he felt life spring back into his limbs. “I don’t care what you say about this collar. I’m going to fight it and find the source, then we can stop them…whoever them is.”

“Okay, John,” Mycroft indulged with a pat to the boy’s chest. It was obvious the man didn’t believe John could do it. But that was okay, he would show both Doms he was in control of his own mind. John wouldn’t hurt Mycroft and he wouldn’t hurt Sherlock, which, when he thought about it, was a bit comical. He’d spent what seemed like forever trying to hurt them, make them pay, but now John was trying his best to keep them safe.

When they arrived at Baker Street, John jumped out and ran up to the door, only to have to wait for Mycroft to open it with a key. “We will have dinner, then I will adjourn to my study. You may do whatever you please as long as you stay out of trouble and are in bed by nine.”

“No raiding your secret stash of Cadburys then, huh?” John asked, putting as much innocence into the question as possible. The Sub almost burst into laughter at the other man’s expression. Only Mycroft Holmes could have the same threatening look for when someone pointed a gun at him and when someone threatened to eat his sweets.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, John,” the man said with a straight face. He lifted his chin slightly as he hung up his jacket. “I texted Devon earlier today to make curry. I believe it’s ready. Go wash up and I’ll meet you at the table.”

John’s eyes became half lidded at the order, but his feet moved his pliable body to the loo. While John washed his hands, he looked in the mirror and for the first time got a good look at the dark brown collar around his neck. He couldn’t see the metal part attached to his spine no matter how much he arched his neck, but he could only imagine how horrible it must look. People would probably think he was some sort of cyborg, which, in any other circumstance would be pretty fucking cool.

Once he was finished carrying out Mycroft’s orders, John went into the kitchen and sat down across from Mycroft. Devon brought a plate that had steam rolling off of it, making John’s mouth water. Without waiting to be told, John dug in, shoveling bite after bite into his mouth.

“I would have thought you’d learned by now no one is going to take your food away, John,” Mycroft said, lifting his fork slowly to his mouth. “Or perhaps you have not fed yourself in so long you have forgotten your manners.”

 John swallowed the huge chunk of chicken in his mouth and placed his fork down on the table. Awkwardly, he dabbed the napkin over his lips and waited for what seemed like an hour to take another bite. “Sorry,” he mumbled just as he slid another piece of chicken off into his mouth. “Just hungry.”

“Of course,” Mycroft nodded, “you are a sixteen year old boy, after all. But if you are going to be a part of this family, I expect you to conduct yourself like a gentleman even when Sherlock is not here to guide you.”

“A part…” _did he just say a part of this family?_

“Yes, John,” Mycroft sighed as if everything was completely obvious and John was a complete moron for not getting it. “Even though it is just me and my brother, we still fall under the definition of a family unit. And now you, John Watson, are our Sub and perhaps one day, something more.”

“Something more?” John asked, completely uncaring that curry sauce had smeared all over his chin as he listened to Mycroft.

The Dom merely rolled his eyes and stood up, pushing his chair back and checking his watch. “You should relax. Sherlock won’t be back until later tonight when you will be in bed.”

“How do you know? Is he okay?”

“Oh yes, quite alright. He’s done this ever since he was ten years old; run off to the…well, around London. I used to follow him, but now I have one dedicated agent to make sure my little brother stays out of trouble,” Mycroft said. The look in his eyes was almost… _sad?_

 _Where does he go? Wait, ten years old. That’s when his mum died, right? Damn, I guess he must be really upset about me wearing this collar._ “You know where he is? Can I go see him? I just want to make sure he’s alright. He-He shouldn’t have to be alone right now.” John could just picture the tall pale man walking down the cold street with his collar pulled up all the way, shielding himself form the wind. He was alone, and that’s just not how things should be, not for anyone.

“That is very noble of you, John, but I believe it is best for my brother to work out his feelings in his own time. These past few weeks have been very confusing to him, emotionally, and he needs to come to terms without either of our help.”

“He’s really that upset?” John asked, finishing the last of his chicken and standing up to stretch his sore spine.

Once again, Mycroft sighed. “You and my brother are very much alike.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before,” John rolled his eyes. He knew he was nothing like the genius, flamboyant man who knew every move an opponent could ever challenge him with. No, John was a mere pebble compared to the giant boulder that was Sherlock Holmes.

“No,” Mycroft said, shaking his head slightly, “you are not the tough angry Sub you would like everyone to believe, correct?”

John just stared at the man, trying desperately to hold his gaze even though his entire being was telling him to look down. When John couldn’t bring himself to answer, Mycroft smiled, taking the Sub’s silence as proof he was right in his assumption. “Well, my brother is not the cold ‘vessel’ he claims to be, either. You would do well to remember that when you let him hold you at night.”

Before John could ask any more questions, Mycroft flowed through the living room and into his study, sliding the door shut behind him. John didn’t know how to feel, but honestly who the hell would? Sherlock was hurting, obviously, but he didn’t show it. Okay, John could deal with that, right? Once this collar business was taken care of, he could focus more of his attention on Sherlock. He would show the Dom how much he cared about him, because yes, holy fuck, John did care about the man. If the pit in John’s stomach was any indication, he had it bad for Sherlock Holmes.

“Can I get you anything else, sir?” Devon asked, startling John.

“Oh, umm, no…well, yeah, actually. I’m going to raid Mycroft’s chocolate stash. Will you watch my back?”

Laughing had been trained out of the butler, John had learned, but every once in a while, he could get the old man to help him get into mischief. “I can neither confirm nor deny that I will be clearing the table with a direct line of sight to Master Holmes’ study. Furthermore, I may or may not drop a fork if Master Holmes exits his study.”

“You’re the best, Devon!” John exclaimed, running over and jumping up on the counter. He opened up a decorative tea pot on top of the cabinet and pulled out a Dairy Milk bar for him and a Wispa for when Sherlock got back. Placing the lid back on gently, John jumped down, the shock sending a spark of pain to his nape.

“Are you alright, sir?” Devon asked, running over when John winced and dropped the chocolates to the floor.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m okay. Thanks,” John said, reaching down to pick up the sweets up. “Neck’s just a bit sore, that’s all.”

“Would you like me to call Master Holmes?”

“No,” John snapped up, because the last thing he wanted was to have Mycroft hovering over him the rest of the evening. “No, I’m just going to go shower, then sleep. I’m pretty exhausted.”

“Very well, sir,” Devon said, still unsure. “Enjoy your chocolate.”

“What chocolate?” John chuckled, shoving the bars in his waist band with a wink.

With that, John went into their bedroom and closed the door. With a deep sigh, John slumped back against the wall and slid down until he was sitting with his knees close to his chest. He unwrapped the Cadbury chocolate and took a bite, relishing the rich sweet goodness. “Alright, John,” he said to himself, “we have to keep our wits about ourselves. Mycroft is not going to hurt us. Mycroft is not going to hurt any Subs. He wants to help us. Mycroft is not evil.”

Though John kept repeating those things to himself, he wasn’t sure if he would still believe that in a couple of days. John knew he had a strong mind, but what scared him the most was the thought that his perception would become warped, thus, making his reality warped. He couldn’t fight against what he believed to be true.

When the chocolate was gone and John had licked both his fingers and the foil wrapper clean, the Sub stripped off his clothes and stepped into the shower. He let the warm water flow down his body. As John washed his chest and stomach, he looked down to note how much he’d filled out over the past month or so. When they were on the run, John’s stomach was sunk in and his ribs and chest bone could be seen from a mile away. Now though, he could still see slight bumps on his flank, but fat and meat were forming around his ribs, chest, and stomach.

His hair, which had grown out enough to almost reach his eyes, was now soft and completely blond instead of a greasy, matted light brown. Although he could feel the heavy collar around his neck, John, for some reason, could only focus on the positive aspects of living with the Holmeses… _being a part of the family._

As he stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around his waist, John looked into the mirror to see what used to be a gaunt face staring back at him with fuller cheeks and brighter blue eyes. Suddenly, a shock ran through his nape, making the Sub wince. When he opened his eyes, a blurry figure was in the mirror, standing right behind him.

John swung around, ready to fight, but also ready for a hug attack if it was Sherlock. To his confusion, when he faced the door, nobody was there. “Hello?” John asked tentatively, looking around the small bathroom to find himself alone. _What the fuck?_

For a moment, John was ready to run out of the bedroom and tell Mycroft what he’d just seen, but then thought better of it. _What’s he gonna do? Check under the bed for monsters?_ So John finished drying off, threw on a grey shirt and black pajama trousers, turned off the light, then hopped into bed.

John covered himself up, lying flat on his back as he stared up at the ceiling. He wished Sherlock was there. Sherlock would hold him and make sure no one was going to come out of the mirror and take him. Honestly, John wasn’t sure when he’d become so damn reliant on the Dom, but right now, he wasn’t sure he’d be able to sleep without Sherlock by his side.

John did fall asleep within ten minutes of his head hitting the pillow. He was woken up however by a shrill scream. The Sub leapt out of the bed on high alert. The first thing he noticed as his eyes scanned for any threats was that the room looked strange. There was no furniture to start, not even a bed when John turned around to see where he thought he’d just come from. The door was crooked and…and had a heartbeat.

The wood seemed to pulse, mirroring John’s own rapidly increasing heart. “What the hell is going on?” John asked aloud. With another scream from the living room, John sprang into action and ignored the grotesque feeling flooding his gut as his hand gripped the door handle.

The thudding from the walls stopped when John entered the living room. A sight John had never thought of in his wildest nightmares was playing out before his eyes and he didn’t know what to do! His feet dropped into the floor, the wood holding his ankles and keeping John from moving forward.

“Mycroft!” John shouted, his voice high pitched and shrill. The Dom stopped what he was doing and looked up, scanning the room until his eyes fell on John. Mycroft smiled, feral and…and evil.  

“John, please help!” Jim yelled from his place on the floor.

Helpless, John watched as the black haired Sub lay on the ground with a canvas bag covering half his body. Mycroft was tightening the stitches on the side of the bag, making it into what looked like a sleeping bag. Until, the Dom pulled the material up and over Jim’s face, sowing the boy inside.

The white bag twitched like a larva as Jim tried to escape. “Mycroft,” John shouted, trying to move his feet to get to Jim, “what are you doing? Stop!”

But the Dom simply patted the body bag enveloping Jim, and stood up. When John followed Mycroft’s line of sight, the boy almost ripped his feet off trying to stop the man from reaching the little girl who sat on the sofa. Molly looked terrified as the wolf like creature with Mycroft’s features stalked towards her.

“This is for the best, John. Subs are nothing but a blight on this world, and I’ve found the cure.” As Mycroft grabbed ahold of the little girl’s shoulder, John screamed in pure rage.

Finally, his feet came loose and John launched himself at the demonic man. Out of the corner of his eye, John saw the same blurry figure standing in the corner. It was a woman, from what the Sub could tell, but the face was too distorted to identify her. That didn’t matter though, because an abnormally long and cold hand wrapped around his throat, hoisting him into the air.

John’s back hit the wall with a thud, knocking the breath out of the Sub. When he came too, John saw crazy blue eyes staring up at him and sharp elongated teeth glinting in the florescent lights. “I’ve heard little boy Subs taste the best,” the Mycroft creature growled gleefully, “we’ll just have to test that theory, won’t we?”

“Mycroft, no!” John screamed, kicking at the man who he thought he could trust. The teeth lunged forward and into his jugular, throwing John into oblivion.

The next thing John knew, he was laying on the floor…his bedroom’s floor, with his bed right next to him. “John! John! Are you alright?” Sherlock asked, putting his arms under the boy and lifting him onto the bed.

The young Dom’s eyes were wide with worry as he inspected John for any injuries. “What happened?” he asked, when John didn’t answer.

He could still see those evil icy eyes glaring at him, those teeth plunging into him. John started to shake uncontrollably. “W-What did you see, John? Please…please talk to me. What can I do? Please, John, what can I do?”

Finally lifting his eyes to focus on the soft silver eyes of his Dom, John bit his lip. _It’s okay, John. It was just a nightmare. It’s okay._ With a shaky breath, John lay back down on the bed and covered up. “Hold me,” John whispered, because maybe, just maybe, if Sherlock held him, the imprinted image of Mycroft sowing Jim up in a body bag would go away.

“I can do that,” Sherlock said softly. His Dom took of his clothes quickly, leaving him only in a white undershirt and grey pants. He quickly scooted in behind John and wrapped his arm around the boy, pulling him back until they were flush against each other. “It’s okay, John,” he said as the shaking started to slow, “I’m here. I won’t ever leave you. I promise.”

John closed his eyes and tried to focus on the warmth on his back and the firm hand on his belly. Images of the evil creature….Mycroft, like little pictures sketched into ash, flashed in front of his vision. He squeezed his eyes together and shivered, causing Sherlock to pull him in closer. Sherlock would keep him safe… _the woman will keep me safe._ “I love you, Sherlock,” John whimpered past the growling wolf in his head.

“I love you too, John. I’ll keep you safe, John, I promise.”  


	14. Help!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON CHEMICAL REACTIONS: John was fitted for the new collar that is supposedly being hacked by a woman and telling Subs to kill their Doms. Sherlock is pretty pissed about this because he loves John and doesn't want to see him get hurt, so he runs away for a bit to sit at his mother's grave and think. Meanwhile, John and Mycroft eat dinner, John steals some of Mycroft's Cadbury chocolates before he goes to bed, then John has fucked up dreams about Mycroft being a were-creature and sowing up Jim in a body bag...so yeah, it's pretty fucked up.
> 
> John's losing it. Sherlock admits something very important to Mycroft.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! 
> 
> Thanks for waiting and I hope you enjoy this chapter. I promise the next chapter will get to some more plot! 
> 
> Also, please note the previous chapter has now been beta'd. I will most likely post the unedited version first, then, when I go to post the next chapter, I will repost the previous with the edits. Sorry if reading with errors bugs you, but that's just the way the cookie (biscuit) crumbles. OR NOT! My awesome beta TPurr did a quick edit, so this chapter is now good to go!
> 
> Enjoy!

Chapter 14 – Help!

“When I was younger so much younger than today

I never needed anybody's help in any way

But now these days are gone, I'm not so self assured

Now I find I've changed my mind and opened up the doors”

-          Help! The Beatles

           

As they prepared themselves for the day, Sherlock didn’t mention how John shivered for another hour before he fell asleep in his Dom’s arms. The two men didn’t speak as they brushed their teeth, shaved the prior day’s stubble from their cheeks, and dressed in warm clothes. Nor was anything mentioned when John perched upon Sherlock’s lap and ate blueberry muffin crumbs from the man’s fingertips.

John was thankful for this. He didn’t want to talk about the sharp teeth and demonic look in Mycroft’s eyes. All the young Sub wanted to do was to forget about the stupid nightmare and whoever that blurry figure was encroaching on his thoughts. Perhaps he could get away without having to relay what he’d seen. And then…

“What’s wrong with you two?” Mycroft asked, narrowing his eyes from the other end of the table.

Neither of the younger men answered, nor made eye contact with the eldest Holmes. John was about to grab a piece of bacon off the plate to shove in his mouth so he didn’t have to talk, when Mycroft let out a frustrated sigh. “John, I will order you if I have to. Now tell me, what happened last night that you are both failing to hide from me?”

It was Johns turn to narrow his eyes at the older man. This stupid collar not only gave him the most fucked up nightmares of his life, but it also allowed Mycroft to command him to do even the smallest things. _What was I thinking?_

“Nothing’s wrong,” John said, a tad bit more petulantly than he intended. All the while, Sherlock kept his head down with one hand positioned on John’s abdomen and the other shoving food into the boy’s mouth.

“Sherlock?” Mycroft asked, never taking his eyes away from John. The younger Holmes said nothing. “Right, it appears the collar is acting quicker than I anticipated. Now, come here, John,” Mycroft ordered.

Both Sherlock and John looked up from the empty china on the table. John could feel his Dom’s hand tightening around his stomach at the command, but it didn’t stop the boy from struggling to complete the order he’d been given. Although he had bliss running through his body and his appendages were relaxed, John was still able to put up quite a fight against Sherlock’s embrace.

“Sherlock,” Mycroft warned his little brother, who returned his steely gaze while John continued to struggle. Soon, though, the bliss began to wear off and John halted his movements, his eyes still glazed over a bit. “Sherlock!” Mycroft snapped, throwing his napkin down when he saw the bliss had worn off and his command had been ignored. “In my office, now!”

The stand-off only lasted a moment before Sherlock scooted John off his lap and stood to follow his brother. “Stay here, John,” Sherlock told him, “we’ll be right over there if you need me.”

John simply nodded and slumped down in the chair. This royally sucked, John decided, but he sat in the chair like the well trained pet he was. He did, however, give a token rebellion by drinking the rest of his juice without Sherlock there to help him. With a deep sigh and a quick look to make sure the office door was closed, John stood up and stretched his arms over his head.

He winced in pain when a slight shock ran through his neck. _They’re talking about me…they know that I know what Mycroft really is…wait, what?_ The thoughts ran through his mind so fast, John stopped in his tracks trying to figure out if it was actually his voice inside his head or someone else. “What the fuck is wrong with me?” John asked aloud, rubbing his forehead hard enough to leave a red mark.

Slowly, he walked over to the office door and pressed his ear up against the wood, hoping to hear a bit of the conversation that was no doubt about him.

“Sherlock, you know how important it is that John relay every bit of information to us. It won’t do any good to let him retreat into his own mind; no matter how terrifying it might be for him.”

“You didn’t see his face, Mycroft!” Sherlock boomed, actually boomed. “How am I supposed to ask him to tell me something that made him so terrified his whole body was shaking for hours?”

“You don’t ask him, brother, you order him,” Mycroft said calmly. “That is why we are his Dominants. It is our responsibility to look at the bigger picture and get results, no matter how unappealing it might be.”

There was silence for a long moment, but when Sherlock started to speak again, John heard a voice behind him. The Sub whirled around to see where the noise came from, but when he examined the room no one was to be found.

“John,” the voice whispered again, a bit clearer this time.

“Hello?” the Sub whispered, walking slowly towards the sofa in the middle of the room where he thought the voice was coming from.

“John, help me. Please, help me, John,” the small voice was low and panicked, obviously trying to be quiet so no one else would hear.  

That’s when he saw them. Three small children, maybe five or six years old, were huddled under the couch, shivering and bruised. John looked back at the office door, debating whether he should yell for them or investigate alone. There were two questions running through John’s head, and only one made a shiver run down his spine. _Am I mad, or are there really children under Mycroft’s couch? I don’t know which answer I’d prefer._

“John, please, they’re coming!” the little blond boy shrieked, his nose bloody and his blue eyes wet. Those eyes…those eyes looked so familiar, and the girl, the little girl sitting next to the boy reminded him of someone he knew. It was the same with the third boy, who had brown curly hair and silver eyes. But he just couldn’t place them, as if the answer was blocked off by an invisible wall in his brain. 

John got down on his hands and knees, inching closer to the children. “Who’s coming?” John whispered back.

The three children shook their heads in unison, terror clear on their little faces. “He’s gonna take us, Johnny,” the little girl said. Like a tumbler clicking into place, John recognized his sister as the bruised little girl hiding. And the blond boy…was him. _No, no this can’t be real. It’s the collar, that’s what it is, this fucking collar that’s making me see them. This isn’t real, this isn’t-_

“No! He’s here! John, please, don’t let him eat us!” the brown haired boy said, the brown haired boy he’d seen in his dreams, the little boy who would grow up to be his Dom. If Sherlock was scared, then John knew whoever was coming was bad news.

“John?” an inhuman voice growled behind him.

John watched as the three children’s eyes turned into black coals. His heart started pounding even faster as little jolts of electricity spread through his neck. “No,” John whispered. Then, burning from the inside out, the children began to melt like wax.

“He’ll eat you too, John,” a woman’s voice said from somewhere in his head. “He devoured your sister, Jim, Mike, Molly, Sherlock, and now he’s going to take you, boy. Kill him. Kill him before he eats all the Subs. Save them, John. Save them from the monster.”

“John?” the voice behind him growled. _The monster! No, I won’t let him do this!_

.oOo.

“Alright,” Sherlock agreed to his brother’s demands after going through every possible outcome, twice. “I will find out what the collar is showing him, but, once we find out who this woman is, John and I are done. We will stay here at 221B, while you return to the mansion and find another Sub to test your new theories on.”

His brother cocked his head, assessing at a deeper level than any scholar or philosopher could ever dream. Sherlock already knew what he was thinking, but it didn’t stop him from trying to hide it from his older brother.

“Sherlock, I know you are smitten with this boy, but-”

“You and I both know, Holmeses do not get ‘smitten,’ brother,” Sherlock snapped, crossing his arms over his chest to aid his mental barriers. “John is mine, as I am his. He will be my Sub, as I his Dom. We will live here at 221B and do as we please for the rest of our lives and there’s nothing you can do to stop us.”

“Oh please, ‘brother mine,’ do try to sound like an adult while in the midst of negotiations,” Mycroft antagonized. But Sherlock could tell the man was cracking and would soon give in to his demands, as his older brother always did… _well, almost always…okay, almost never, but still._

“I will not let you keep torturing John like this. The boy was already broken when we found him and now…now I’ll never be able to find him in that head of his if he must retreat into it for safety.” _Then, then I’ll be alone again._

“If I recall correctly, and I always do, wasn’t it your idea to use John as our prime experiment? Wasn’t it your belief that finding answers was greater than any Sub’s life?”

Sherlock fought not to twitch under his brother’s accusations. It was always like this between them. No matter how tall Sherlock got, no matter how deep his voice, no matter how many experiments he completed, Mycroft was always going to treat him like his five year old little brother with a bloody knee and torn shirt, complements of the bullies at school. Sherlock looked down at the ground, unable to meet his brother’s gaze.

Mycroft sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose, an act he had started at the ripe old age of fifteen. “Okay, Sherlock, I’ll tell you what; if you can tell me, without trying to manipulate,” he added seriously, “why you don’t want me to use John for this experiment anymore, I will let you two alone after we find the woman.” 

“You know why,” Sherlock snapped. _What are you playing at?_

“Indeed I do, but I want to hear you say it, Sherlock. If this means that much to you…if ‘he’ means that much to you, then I will yield and find another way to complete the trials. If, however, you cannot admit to me, or yourself, why you want to keep John, then it is obvious this is just infatuation and John will continue to be mine.”

“NO!” Sherlock shouted, taking a threatening step towards his brother. It was pure instinct and Sherlock was helpless to stop it.

“Excuse me?” Mycroft said dangerously, taking an even more threatening step towards his younger brother. The older Holmes was merely an inch taller than Sherlock, but it still answered the question of who was boss in this scenario.

“No, you cannot have him,” Sherlock said quietly. He swallowed a lump in his throat, then continued. “I…I love him, Mycroft,” he said, lifting his eyes a moment later to find his normally stoic brother with the slightest of smiles on his lips.

“Alright, then,” Mycroft said, as if his younger brother hadn’t just admitted to actually loving someone. “You will retrieve the information from John and as soon as we locate this ‘woman,’ I will move back to the mansion while you and John remain at 221B. I will, however, have access to John’s unique expertise when it comes to Sub behavior. John will become a consultant, so to speak, at our IBAD research facility and you, brother mine, will be kept out of trouble by aiding Lestrade in his cases and tracking down more homeless Subs. Those are my terms and they are not negotiable.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes, trying to find the catch in his brother’s plan. There was none that he could find, which honestly worried the younger man. It would be perfect! John would be his and no one else’s. They could both help Subs, which Sherlock knew was John’s greatest goal in life. If Sherlock could fulfill his Sub’s dream, then maybe, just maybe, John would love him back with even the tiniest fraction of how much Sherlock loved him.

“Deal,” Sherlock nodded, holding out his hand for Mycroft to shake.

“Good,” Mycroft agreed and grasped his brother’s hand. “Now, let us see how much trouble ‘your’ Sub has found while we were away, shall we.”

Sherlock couldn’t help the grin on his face when he heard ‘your Sub.’ Not to mention the fact that yes, John was most likely getting himself in to trouble by stealing more of Mycroft’s biscuits, which made Sherlock’s smile broaden even more. _My Sub._

When they opened the door, however, Sherlock paused when he saw John on his hands and knees, shaking and staring under the sofa.

“John?” Mycroft asked, concern with a touch of sternness in his voice. When John didn’t answer, both men began walking towards the Sub. It sounded like John was talking to someone, but it was plain to see no one was in the room except the three men.

“John?” Mycroft asked again, standing right behind John now. Finally, the Sub turned around to stare at the eldest Holmes.

“John,” Sherlock gasped when he saw the thinnest line of blue around John’s pupils and the blank look on the boy’s face. That wasn’t his John, no, this was whatever the collar was putting into his mind. At that moment, Sherlock wanted to throw in the towel, rip out the collar himself. He remembered their deal though, and they had already come this far. This was the price of admission, and Sherlock would just have to drag John through until they were at the finish line. _That’s what a Dom does!_

The boy’s muscles tensed, and Sherlock moved. 

.oOo.

With one last look at the bubbling puddle of wax on the ground, John turned around to see the giant were-creature from his nightmare. The beast stood at least seven foot tall, with glowing blue orbs for eyes and curved claws with sharp nails at the end of each long muscular arm. A deep growl from the monster almost made John cower under the couch like his scared five year old self. But, the fact was, no matter how scared John was, he was the only hope for Subs. The only one who could stop this monster from devouring the entire world.

With a fierce growl of his own, John sprung from his crouched position and tackled the creature. He straddled the were’s hips and began throwing punch after punch into the evil face. As his fists connected, shocks ran through his body, egging John on until massive amounts of adrenaline coursed through his body.

The next thing John knew, hands wrapped around his chest, pulling him off the twitching and struggling beast. “No, John, KILL HIM!” the woman’s voice shouted so loudly inside his head that John’s hands automatically went to cover his ears.

Then, a louder, more familiar voice called to him. “John, John, stop it. Calm down, for me. Breathe,” Sherlock said, holding John to his body as they sat on the ground together. They were both breathing hard and John could feel Sherlock’s heart beating through his back. “Shh, that’s it.”

Slowly, John’s eyes refocused and the vibration in the back of his neck stopped. The first thing he saw was Mycroft rolling onto his side and propping himself up on his forearm. He used his other hand to whip the blood gushing from his nose, all the while staring at John with confused, but intrigued eyes that were no longer giant unearthly orbs.

“W-What happened?” John asked, looking around the room for the wax puddle or the woman whose voice he heard. “Mycroft…Oh my God, I’m....I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to, I thought…” John trialed off, trying to remember what he’d seen and why he’d attacked Mycroft.

“Thought what, John?” Mycroft asked, kneeling and then pushing to stand up. “Who was I?”

John just shook his head and closed his eyes. The woman’s voice was still echoing in his head and those fucking blue glowing eyes were bored into his vision. “This…I can’t do this,” John whined. He was starting to panic. For all the good he was trying to do, for all the Subs he was trying to save, John wanted to raise the white flag and run as far away as his legs would allow. “Take it off! Get it off ME!”

Although Sherlock’s body behind him was already starting to soothe John, the teenager lunged free from the man’s embrace and huddled himself in the corner like an injured animal. With all his strength, John yanked on the collar, feeling the sharp barbs pull on what felt like his entire spine. He screamed, but kept pulling until hands grabbed ahold of his and pinned his arms to his sides.

“John, no,” Sherlock growled. He pulled the boy up, most of the weight on his forearms that were braced under John’s ribs. When he plopped down on the couch, John coming with him, Sherlock laid back until his Sub was completely on his chest. “Shhh, you’re okay, you’re okay,” Sherlock kept repeating. But John WASN’T okay! John needed this collar off. He needed the voices to stop. He needed to stop seeing beaten children and Mycroft sewing Jim up in a body bag. He needed this to stop!

“John,” Mycroft said gently, walking over to John while he pressed a light blue handkerchief to his bloody nose.  

“Stay back,” John heard himself say. Seeing the man that close to him set something off inside John, causing the Sub to burrow deeper into the couch and Sherlock. “I won’t let you hurt Sherlock. I won’t let you eat any of them, you monster!” he shouted from his hiding place in Sherlock’s embrace, like a Dog who barked and growled until the threat grew nearer and then they whimpered and cowered for their life.

Instead of anger or offense like John expected from the… _beast? No, no he’s just Mycroft. The man who gave Molly chocolate and ate biscuits with me…_ Mycroft cocked his head to the side in curiosity. “Monster?” he asked, “what kind of monster, John? What am I going to do to you and Sherlock?”

“No, no, stop it,” John whined over the voice in his head. DON’T TELL HIM, JOHN. IF HE KNOWS, HE WILL DEVOUR YOU! The woman in his head shouted. He knew her name…yes, no, no he couldn’t quite grasp it. It was there, right in the air ready for him to grab, but John just couldn’t find it.

“Alright, that’s enough,” Sherlock said, tightening his hold on John’s torso. “Mycroft go get the car ready. John and I will be out shortly to go talk to Irene.”

“I’m not sure if John should be talking to her right now,” Mycroft said, eyeing the two men on the couch carefully.

“I think she knows what’s happening to him and who’s telling these Subs to kill their Doms. She knows something and I think when she talks to John she will reveal something inadvertently. For right now, this is our best bet, Mycroft.”

With a deep sigh, Mycroft nodded. “I will wait for you two in the car and you ‘will’ let me know if there is any new information uncovered while I am in the car.”

“Of course,” Sherlock bowed his head, then focused his attention on John. Mycroft grabbed his coat and left the flat, leaving Sherlock and John alone. “John?”

“Hmm?” the teenager mumbled, sounding years younger than he actually was.

“What did you see? You can tell me, I promise you aren’t in trouble and I won’t tell Mycroft.”

“He…He’s going to eat us all and…and sew us up in body bags,” John blurted out, surprised at how much better he actually felt just from telling someone. Sherlock could help him carry this burden; after all, Mycroft wanted to eat him too. “He’s a beast, a monster and he’s going to eat us all, Sherlock! We have to stop him!”

“Okay, okay,” Sherlock patted his chest calmly. John could feel the man’s mouth pressed against his hair, his slow exhales warm on the teenager’s scalp. “Did someone tell you this? Or did you see it happen?” Sherlock’s voice was slow and assessing.

“I saw him-” John let out a quiet sob as he remembered the wolf creature sewing up Jim in the bag. “I saw him in his true form and he…he killed Jim and sewed him up in a…a body bag! He was going for Molly next, Sherlock! I couldn’t let him! I have to stop him! And she told me…she told me he was going to kill us and you too, Sherlock, you too!”

“Okay, okay,” Sherlock began petting his chest again. “Nothing is going to happen to you, John. I promise, I promise.” He kissed the top of John’s head and sat up to push the Sub off his lap. “Do you trust me?”

Without hesitation, John nodded his head and quickly wiped the few stray tears away from his reddened eyes.

“Good,” Sherlock said, smiling. He slowly moved his hand to cup John’s cheek, keeping the Sub still and bringing him back to earth. The whole world disappeared for those ten seconds as Sherlock’s warm lips met his own. John was safe in that moment. No creature could get him, no Sub cried for his help, nothing but Sherlock’s hand on his face and his lips on his own. “I’ll take care of you, John, and we are going to figure this out.”

“Okay,” John mumbled, his fingers and nose still tingly from the kiss. “Okay, yeah,” he nodded.

“Let’s go talk to Irene,” Sherlock said pulling John up and leading him over to the coat rack.

“Sherlock?”

“Hmm?” the man asked quietly, putting John’s coat on the Sub before wrapping himself up.

“I don’t know what’s real and what’s not. I just…I’m so scared,” John’s lip trembled until Sherlock pulled him into a warm embrace.

“I know, John, I know,” he soothed. “It’s only for a little while longer, though. Just know, you are my Sub and I will ‘never’ let anyone hurt you.”

“I love you, Sherlock,” John whispered into his Dom’s chest. “Thank you, thank you,” _for saving me,_ was what John didn’t say.     

          


	15. Tomorrow Never Knows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON CHEMICAL REACTION: The collar around John's neck keeps distorting reality, making Mycroft appear to be a monster. The woman hacking John's brain wants him to kill Mycroft for reasons still unknown. Yeah...that's pretty much it.
> 
> John talks to Irene. The ending is horrible and unforgivable, please don'e hunt me down with pitchforks and torches.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, hello!
> 
> Sorry it took me three weeks this time guys, but the chapter is a bit longer than normal. I hope you enjoy and please see the end for notes regarding a few changes in the story. 
> 
> Not beta'd yet, but will be shortly.

Chapter 15 – Tomorrow Never Knows

**Turn off your mind, relax and float down stream**

**It is not dying, it is not dying**

**Lay down all thoughts, surrender to the void**

**It is shining, it is shining**

**\-- Tomorrow Never Knows, The Beatles**

For the first time since he had met the Holmes brothers, John sat by the window as they drove to the IBAD center. Mycroft sat by the other window, while Sherlock was stiff and ridged between them. A thick tension permeated the back seat and the silence from all three men only helped to add to the stress.

“I don’t understand,” John said finally, his voice merely a whisper above the soft vibration of the car.

“What’s that, John?” Mycroft asked, leaning forward so he could peer around his brother at the Sub.

“I mean, who is doing this? Is it a Sub trying to start a revolution like Irene? Or…or like that Dr. Magna-Magnessa…”

“Dr. Magnussen,” Sherlock corrected, not looking up from his phone. And honestly, John considered grabbing the damn thing and throwing it out the window, but luckily, Mycroft chimed in.

“As of right now, it is impossible to tell. Unless we can pinpoint where the transmissions are coming from, or you are able to identify the voice, I-”

“Well excuse me for not asking the name of the lady who’s telling me to slit your throat with that pen she told me to steal from your desk before we left!” John snapped, first thudding his head against the door before Sherlock put his phone in his pocket and grabbed the Sub to pull him against his body. John only struggled for a moment, wanting but hating the comfort the smell of coconuts and cinnamon brought.

Slowly, as Sherlock held John with his right arm, the Dom reached into the boy’s jean pocket and pulled out a rose gold tipped Mont Blanc fountain pen with the Holmes name engraved in gold script. A small dark stain appeared on the light blue cotton on the inside of John’s pocket as Sherlock pulled the pen from its home. John clenched his fists tight enough to feel his short nails digging into his palm when the shadowy figure sitting in the front seat was hissing at him.

“You are killing hundreds of Subs every time you let that monster live, John!” she screamed in a voice only John could hear. “Is that what you’ve wanted all along? To kill innocent people? To Kill Molly?”

“Shut up!” John shrieked, his voice cracking into a higher pitch that made him sound like a scared ten year old boy. Before he could put his hands over his ears in an attempt to drown out the demonic banshee, Sherlock grabbed John by the neck and shoved his head in between the Dom’s stomach and his wool coat; the same wool coat that John used to carry canned food and medicine to help his friends survive. _See, I do want Subs to live. I am helping them. I am!_

“Shhh,” Sherlock soothed, keeping a slowly rubbing hand on John’s back to prevent the teenager from lashing out or to comfort him, the Sub didn’t know. It felt nice though, and made the woman’s voice turn into a whisper.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry,” John cried into the man’s shirt. It was a strange thing to note at the time, but when John pressed his face into Sherlock’s stomach he felt how hard it was compared to when he rested his head on Mycroft’s lap. The older Dom, though still fit in his suits, had a softer layer over his stomach muscles. The brothers were so different in many ways, but at that moment, both men’s hands were resting on his back and for the life of him, John couldn’t tell the difference. Each large hand, one on his lower back and one resting just under the collar, emitted the same type of love, the same type of bliss, and the same type of uncertainty.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry about,” Mycroft said, his voice confident with a layer of something under it that only John, Sherlock, and maybe Greg could hear. Guilt.

“Is she here, John?” Sherlock asked.

John nodded and squirmed his hand out from between his and Sherlock’s stomach to point at the front passenger seat.

“Marcus,” Mycroft said quickly. A soft humming sound filled the car, making John tuck his head and peer out from Sherlock’s coat. The black window that separated the front seats from the back slowly erected into position until the woman’s shadowy figure disappeared.

John sighed in relief, but still returned his hand to fist in Sherlock’s dress shirt. The rest of the car ride was spent in silence; wonderful, peaceful, silence. And then…

“I’m going to hook a lead to your collar, okay John?” Sherlock whispered in a neutral voice. The Dom was trying to emit a calm and commanding presence in order to keep John sedate, but it was as if the word ‘lead’ flipped the switch in John’s head.

Surprising to everyone in the car, especially John himself, the Sub merely groaned and twisted his hands more firmly into the warm cloth below him. John didn’t see the shocked look the brother’s passed over his head. It wasn’t like it was a big deal, John rationalized as he took another deep whiff of Sherlock’s scent.

He heard a quiet click, and that was it, he was on the dog end of a lead. But…but he didn’t care. _Why? Why don’t I care?_ “Are you domming me?” he mumbled dumbly into Sherlock’s chest. His mind was clear, but his actions didn’t make sense. This wasn’t the typical stubborn until he dropped John. This was roll over and die because this purple shirt smells so fucking good, John.

“No, John, I promise I’m not giving you bliss,” Sherlock said, gently pushing John over to sit on the seat next to him.     

“What’s happening to me?” he said, reaching behind him and touching the lead to make sure it was real. He heard a slight amused huff come from above him. Sherlock grabbed John by the shoulders, pushing the Sub up to look at him. Those familiar blue eyes that were more gorgeous than Neptune, and even more mysterious than the far off planet, gleamed at him with a love that was more mysterious and more beautiful than the entire Milky Way.

“You feel safe with us, John,” Sherlock said, carding his hand through John’s shaggy blond hair. “You finally believe that.”

“Shit,” John whispered flatly, because damn it, he did feel safe. Even if the visions and voices in his mind told him he wasn’t, something that had formed deep down in the marrow of his bones told him he was safer than he’d ever been in his entire life. Sherlock chuckled, while Mycroft rolled his eyes.

“We’re here,” Mycroft announced as the car came to a halt. “I trust you will do your best to behave yourself in here, John.”

“Yeah,” he said, “I’ll do the best I can with a fucking psychopath talking to me inside my brain.”

“That’s all I ask,” Mycroft replied in a voice that betrayed nothing. “Come.”

Sherlock pushed John out of the car, following behind him and keeping plenty of slack in the lead. The younger men walked together as Mycroft stayed a couple steps ahead. When John first met the man, he would have sworn it was because he thought himself better than his younger brother and a measly Sub. Now though, now John had a feeling it was to intercept any threats before they reached Sherlock and John.

As they entered the building, a wave of bliss hit John, making his hands tingle and his tongue go a little numb. _Security measure, duh._ John remembered the first time he’d walked through those doors and the bliss had almost knocked him off his feet, but now it was nothing.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Holmes,” the receptionist greeted with a wide smile.

“Good afternoon, Lydia,” he greeted with a slight bow. John cocked his head in confusion. She wasn’t the lady he’d seen last time. _God, how long has it been?_

“Four months,” Sherlock answered his unspoken question. “Your birthday is in one week.”

John turned to look at the tall man next to him, wide eyed. “What? Holy crap, what day is it…what month is it?” He never really had much use for a calendar when out on the street. All that really mattered was when winter was coming. _Harry remembered those things, not me. What kind of person doesn’t even know when their birthday is?_

“It is November 9th. Come,” Mycroft said dismissively. “I trust Ms. Adler is ready?”

“Yes, sir. She’s waiting in the observation room,” Lydia provided.

“Fuck,” John’s sigh was cut into a gasp as Sherlock jerked the lead a tad too roughly to show his disapproval of the Sub’s language. “S’rry,” the teenager mumbled and followed the two Doms down the hallway.

“Alright,” Mycroft said, stopping in front of a door with a number pad on the wall by the frame. “There is a mirror inside this room in which Sherlock and I will be able to observe you and Irene. We will see everything and hear everything, so you are not in any danger. If you want to stop, just say so and Sherlock will pull you out. Is that understood, John?”

“Yes, sir,” John nodded nervously. The last time he’d seen Irene she didn’t care too much for his philosophies and not to mention the fact John was the one who saved the two men she tried to kill. _Yeah, this is going to be loads of fun._

Mycroft walked down the hall to the next door and walked in, while Sherlock began unlatching the lead from John’s collar. John took a step away and faced the white door head on, his shoulders squared and his stance firm. He was ready to take this task on alone, until Sherlock abruptly reached over and gripped John’s cheeks between his smooth palms.

“Say the word and we will leave,” his Dom said. The severity and seriousness in Sherlock’s tone was even more frightening than his older brother’s.

“Sherlock…” John trailed off, unsure of what to say. He wasn’t a coward! He wasn’t going to just hide behind his Doms until the bad people went away. No, John Hamish Watson was a Sub, and a fucking beast! He could do this, he had to. _Damn, I am so scared. Just don’t let Sherlock see, then I’ll have to worry about him too._

“Don’t lie to me,” Sherlock snapped before John could throw some bullshit at him. Silver eyes bore into John like a laser used to mold gems, chipping off the crud to get to the truth.

Darting his eyes away to look at the tile floor, John took a deep shaky breath. “This has to be done, Sherlock,” the Sub said, raising his head to look at the man. Sherlock said nothing, but in a very uncharacteristic tick, the Dom started gnawing on his lower lip. “Hey,” John chuckled, trying to break the tension. “That’s my thing.”

Sherlock halted immediately and let go of John’s cheeks. “You short infuriating child,” the Dom muttered as he strutted down the hall with a flamboyant…sashay, was the only word John could think of to describe his walk.

“You tall childish…child!” John quipped back, smacking his forehead with his palm at the lamest comeback ever. For some damn reason, John could never think when he was around Sherlock; not when the first met, not now.

“I’ll be watching,” Sherlock gave John one last look before he entered the observing room.

With a deep breath, John squeezed his eyes together and walked into the room. Irene was sitting poised on the opposite side of a matte black table. A long silver chain that connected two handcuffs was wound through a loop in the center of the table, forbidding Irene’s hands to reach the other side.

The woman perked up when John entered, her head tilting in an almost predatory manner as if she smelled a fresh innocent gazelle trot into her fields. “John Watson,” she said with faux surprise, her eyes growing wide and her lips pursing. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

He didn’t know what to say. So, he did what he’d seen Mycroft do when he tried to intimidate someone. The teenager lifted his chin, fixed Irene with his best assessing glare, lifted his eyebrow, and to top it off, crossed his arms over a puffed out chest.

Un-expectantly, and a kick to John’s pride’s proverbial bolloks, the woman smirked at him and cocked her head to the other side. “Oh, I see,” she nodded indulgently, the smile never leaving her face. “Why don’t you come sit down here so we can have a chat about you ruining my life and how that collar around your neck is going to ruin yours.”

“You know what’s happening to me?” John said before he could stop himself. _Don’t give anything away you moron! Find out what she knows, but don’t give her any information that could hurt Sherlock._ “I mean, tell me what you know.” The younger Sub strode over to the metal chair and sat down, his arms still crossed as he tried to take up as much space as possible.

“I see your time with the Holmes scum has left its mark,” she laughed, seemingly unperturbed by John’s forcefulness. “Demanding, demanding, demanding. And that…is why they will lose.”

“Lose?” John furrowed his brow in confusion and a hint of amusement. “Like they lost to you? ‘Cause from where I’m sitting it seems like you’re the one who lost.” He motioned to the metal surrounding each of Irene’s wrists dramatically.

“No, sweetheart, no,” she chided. “Not to me. To you.”

John opened his mouth to speak, to shout, to curse her back to where ever she came from, to deny her words until his lungs went flat. But nothing came out. His mouth hung open, dumbfounded as he stared blankly at Irene. “I…I wouldn’t….I don’t…you…SHUT THE FUCK UP!” he finally settled on.

“Ah, I’m surprised Mycroft hasn’t beaten that kind of language out of you yet, John,” Irene said, her voice calm enough to address a kitten who’d just spilled milk everywhere. “But I believe what you are trying to ask, and the answer those two men on the other side of the window want to hear is…who is the woman telling you to murder the owner of the voice that controls your collar?”

“Please…” John whispered, uncrossing his arms and leaning forward to place his elbows on the cold table. He had to know. He had to know or else John was going to lose his mind. The fine edge between reality and nightmare was thinning to nothing but a hairline fracture. “Tell me, Irene, please. Why…what’s going on inside me head? Who’s talking to me? Who’s…I can’t kill someone…please,” he begged again, the words flowing out of his mouth like an avalanche.

Surprisingly, her eyes flickered with something as close to sympathy as John thought she was capable of. “To be perfectly honest, I don’t think she planned on a sixteen year old killing anyone either. However, you are quite possibly the best thing that could have happened for the Resistance. I believed that when I first met you in the hospital and I believe it now as you sit in front of me trying so desperately to fight against what you know needs to be done.”

“What needs to be done?” John asked, his voice raspy from all the saliva leaving his mouth during her speech. _Who was this woman? Is the resistance really still alive? Me? Why do they want me? I can’t kill Mycroft, I can’t!_

“I think you know, John. She’s trying to lead you to it, but for some reason a little Sub who’s never trusted anyone in his entire life has decided to put his faith in two men who are monumentally undeserving of such devotion.”

“You don’t even know them,” John found himself defending the Holmeses instead of staying on course to find out who was hacking into his brain.

“Neither do you,” she purred, leaning forward and fixing John with a gaze that made the teenager lean back. “Has Mycroft ever told you how many Subs have died at IBAD due to his ‘trials?’ Hmm? No? 289!” she growled, her eyes growing fierce. “289 men, women, and children as young as five years old were murdered and burned to ashes under your ‘Dom’s’ ownership. All in the name of bettering life for Subs? Please, John, I know you are not a stupid boy.”

“But…” _No, that’s not true. There’s no way Mycroft would allow that to happen, would he?_ John looked over at the window, imagining what the two men he’d come to trust and even love were doing while their names were being tarnished.

“And the younger one, have you ever asked yourself what he did before you came along? I’m surprised he has enough brain cells left to even function,” she scoffed. Her sneer turned into a grin, however, when she saw the look of uncertainty on John’s face. “Your ‘Dom,’ the one you seem so infatuated with, is a cocaine addict, who dommed Subs into buying his drugs, John.”

“You’re lying,” John tried to sound confident, as if the words hadn’t just hit home, as if everything she’d just told him didn’t make perfect sense. Sherlock would shake sometimes. At first, John didn’t pay any attention to it when the Dom would hold him with trembling hands. The Dom was so damn pale and skinny to the point of emaciation… _holy fuck, John. How did you not notice it before?_

“Am I?” Irene’s smile widened.

“I’m tired of you stupid mind games!” John shouted, standing up and pushing away from the table. He couldn’t let some stupid woman warp his feelings for Sherlock. _But were they warped already by the Holmeses?_ “Tell me who’s inside my head and what the fuck she wants from me! Now!”

“Isn’t it obvious, dear boy? You will kill Mycroft Holmes and then it will begin,” she said simply.

“What will begin?”

“John, I am what they call a small fish,” Irene said. “The people controlling your collar, well, they are the Blue Whale….or, more like a Great White Shark, but you understand the meaning.” She grinned indulgently and leaned back in her chair. “You should really stop fighting it dear, unless you want to die instead of him.”

Before John could respond, the door behind him flew open followed by a blur of black and white. John felt the fringe on his hair lift from the wind created by the rage of fury that was Sherlock Holmes. The Dom leapt onto the table and gripped Irene by the throat, her hands clenching helplessly within the handcuffs.

“Sherlock! Stop!” John shouted, but knew better than to approach the Dom. The man’s eyes were wide and seemed to glow with an eerie blue fire that would incinerate any being who dared get too close.  

“Don’t you dare threaten John!” Sherlock growled, his baritone even deeper than normal, as if possessed by something more dangerous than John could comprehend.

“Sherlock!” Mycroft snapped as he entered the room. The older Dom’s suit was already slightly disheveled and his brow sweaty from a scuffle they must have had in the other room.

“Give me her name!” Sherlock shouted, squeezing his hands together until Irene’s face started to turn red. “HER NAME!”

Touching fire itself, Mycroft took two large steps towards his brother and wrapped his arms around Sherlock’s chest. It took two yanks before Sherlock and Mycroft flew backwards and on to the floor.

“Morstan!” Irene gasped just as Sherlock was pulled away.

Mycroft stood up quickly, hauling his brother up under the armpits. Not trusting Sherlock, the eldest brother looped his arms around the younger’s chest once again and motioned for John to follow them out of the room.

“Morstan?” Sherlock whispered, his eyes unfocused and transfixed on the name. “Morstan.”

“John, out,” Mycroft snapped when the boy’s legs didn’t move. He gave one last look at the tears streaking down Irene’s face as she sucked in much needed air, then ran out into the hallway.

“We will talk about your behavior when we get home, little brother,” Mycroft hissed, throwing Sherlock against the wall. “John, come.” Mycroft didn’t even look at the Sub as he spoke to him, though John didn’t blame him. Someone had to keep Sherlock from going back in there and killing Irene, after all.

John scurried back to the black car while Mycroft held on to the back of his brother’s neck much like a lioness carried their cub by the scruff. Mycroft was angrily whispering something into Sherlock’s ear as John scooted into the car and plastered himself up against the door.

John didn’t know what to think, what to believe. What Irene had told him was quite possible, and frankly, extremely likely on both accounts. But did it matter? John had done a lot of bad shit in his life too, but that was history, the old John. Now, he was good, well, he tried to do good at least. And Sherlock and Mycroft were doing the same; trying to be good people. _Maybe it’s just not possible anymore, to be a good person._

Sherlock was pushed into the car by his brother and that’s when John got his first good look at the angry Dom. A hint of red stained his cheeks and throat, while his eyes were wide and his lips trembled more fiercely than his clenched fists. “Sh-Sherlock,” John spoke merely above a whisper. “It-It’s okay, I don’t believe her…and even if, even if it is true I don’t-”

“We need to find this Morstan woman, now,” Sherlock gritted out, his teeth bared like a threatening wolf. “I will not allow John to be exposed to her influence anymore!”

“Sherlock, enough!” Mycroft snapped as the car turned onto Baker Street. “We will talk about our next plan of action when we get home and are away from unwanted ears.”

“What do you mean?” John asked, leaning forward to look at Mycroft. John would be damned if they left him out of the loop when it was his life on the line. If what Irene said was true, it was either John’s life, or theirs and John…well, John didn’t know what to do with that information yet.

“You know very well what I mean, John,” Mycroft said, his features stiff and his eyes as fiery as his brother’s. “This Morstan woman, if it is indeed a woman, already knows about your situation and is going to use it to her advantage. I refuse to give her any more information than strictly necessary.”

“Well what am I supposed to do?” John asked, letting himself out of the car. Sherlock followed suit, his movements jerky and unnatural.

“Do as you’re told. Like any Sub in your position,” the Dom said shortly, walking around the car and up to the front door.

“But I can help,” John tried, but his words were ignored by both Doms.

“Grab the post, John, and then help Devon with the laundry while Sherlock and I discuss what is going to happen.”

“But-”

“But, nothing, John!” Sherlock turned his head and snarled. “For once in your life do what you’re told.”

Snapping his mouth shut, John felt his entire neck and face flush with anger and embarrassment. Sherlock had never yelled at him like that, never. Something was wrong, John knew, something that they weren’t telling him. Maybe they didn’t think he’d understand, maybe they thought John would hate them after what Irene said. _Maybe they think I am going to kill them! Damn it, John, it’s obvious they don’t trust you. I’ll show them. I’ll get the post, do what they ask and trust them to take care of me. Yes, fucking hell yes, I can do this. I will do this, for Sherlock._

So John kept his cheeky retort inside and ran to get the post from the little metal box on the side of the wall. When he peered inside, John’s stomach dropped. A pistol. There was a fucking pistol nestled at the bottom where letters were supposed to be. He gasped and looked around to find Sherlock and Mycroft already inside 221B.

A little white piece of parchment sat on top of the weapon reading, ‘From a friend. Use it wisely.’

As if on cue, John dropped to his knees from the sharp barbs of pain shooting from his neck to all his extremities. “Fuck,” he cursed, bending down into the fetal position as he gripped his neck.

“Take the gun, John. You know what to do with it. It’s time, you know this,” the woman’s voice, Morstan, whispered kindly to him.

“No,” John whimpered pathetically, “please don’t make me do this. I won’t.”

“But you must,” she insisted, “or…”

A drop of blood hit the ground below John’s face, followed by three more, growing in size as they pooled on the floor. The Sub rubbed his fingers under his nose where he assumed the blood was coming from, but they came back clean. He whipped his mouth to find nothing, then, he tapped his pointer finger to the corner of his eye. Crimson coated the tip of his finger, making a strange deep whimper come from the Subs throat.

“…or your brain will hemorrhage and you, John Hamish Watson age sixteen, will cease to exist and I will find another Sub to lead my revolution.”  

“Please,” John begged again, closing his eyes and praying Sherlock would come back outside and save him. The Sub was trying to trust his Doms to take care of him, but fucking hell his eyes were bleeding!

“This has to be done, John. Now GO!” she shouted inside the teenager’s mind, sending a thick vibrating jolt through his spine.  

With her words, the collar started buzzing and John’s world became distorted. It was as if he was in a lava lamp. The steps, the walls, and the floor became floating goo that swirled around John. He could feel his mind grow hazy as he stood up and dug his hand into the postbox.

With gun in hand and eyes half lidded, John trudged up the stairs, avoiding the strange shadowy hands that extended from the walls to grab him. He opened the door slowly to find a melted room with a horrible stench of dead fish flowing through the room. The odor became stronger as John drew closer to Mycroft’s study.

The two Doms were arguing with one another about what, John couldn’t tell, but the anger in their voices was directed at him. They were angry at him, angry at John! “They’re going to kill you, John! I told you, it’s them or you!”

“NO!” John shouted, his voice silent. _They can’t hear me! Oh God, no, please put the gun down, Mycroft!_

The tall red haired man who held John close as the teenager wept over the cruelness of the world, was now pointing a gun at the Sub. “John, now!” Morstan shouted.

His instinct kicking in, John lifted the gun and fired twice into the Dom’s chest. A thud that sounded like thunder crashing down from the heavens echoed through the room.

“John!” Sherlock roared, furious and beastly as he lunged for John.

Again, the Sub’s instincts took over and John fired the gun until the clip was empty. When the room was silent and what was melted took shape again, John dropped the gun. “Oh God,” John stuttered out. Two bodies lay on the floor, two bodies that were shot by a gun, two bodies that were shot with a gun fired by John. “Sherlock, no!”

John quickly fell to his knees to hover over the motionless Dom, his motionless Dom. “What have I done? Oh God, Sherlock, no!” The Sub grabbed hold of Sherlock’s shirt and shook the man, willing life back into him. Sherlock couldn’t be dead! John loved Sherlock, why the fuck would he shoot him? WHY?! “NO!”

Bloody tears dropped onto Sherlock’s still chest. John didn’t know how long he stayed there, kneeling over Sherlock’s body with his face pressed into the man, smelling his cologne mixed with the irony tang of blood. “I love you, Sherlock. I love you so much. I’m so…so sorry. I’ll fix this…I’ll…I’ll save everyone, okay. You don’t have to worry about anything, I’ll take care of Molly and…and that stupid skull you thought-think I don’t know about; I’ll keep it safe. I promise. Please don’t leave me alone again, Sherlock. Please.”

The soft vulnerable flesh of John’s heart wasn’t able to take any more pain. The scars that had been there before Sherlock came along and soothed them were nothing compared to the lacerations and bruises formed by the man on the ground. John never believed in the concept of a broken heart, but now, his chest ached like the bloody thing had been ripped out of his ribcage.

And like that, a giant iron wall rose from the ashes and surrounded John’s wrecked heart. He had murdered the two people who had ever dared to love a Sub who couldn’t feel bliss. John was not a good person, John would never be a good person, John was…alone. _I’ll kill her if it’s the last thing I do._

“A car is waiting for you outside,” Morstan whispered approvingly inside John’s head. “It’s time to come home now, John.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so in Second Law when Irene first meets John she says he is sixteen and two months old. I am changing it to make it so John will turn seventeen for reasons y'all don't need to know. Also, on a side note, it makes John a Scorpio, which is fucking perfect. I'm not really in to astrology too much, but every damn Scorpio I know is intense, stubborn, crazy assholes, and awesome! So yeah, anyways, go about your business and morn the loss of Mycroft and Sherlock.
> 
> Oh yeah, also, I just realized all the 'villain' characters (depending on your definition of villain) are women. That was purely coincidental, as I've already used up most of the canon characters and Mary just happens to be the last one. Just a disclaimer, I absolutely love Irene and Mary and I think they are totally bad ass. I don't hate women, I don't think they are evil...except me, I'm kind of an evil female, but that's besides the point.


	16. Do You Wanna Know a Secret

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON CHEMICAL REACTION: John keeps seeing distorted images of a woman named Morstan, who tells him to kill Mycroft and Sherlock. Irene tells John Mycroft has killed over 200 Subs during his experiments at IBAD and Sherlock used to be a cocaine addict. When the shocks from the collar become to much and John's eyes start to bleed, the Sub pulls the trigger and kills Mycorft and Sherlock. Important side note, for some reason, Mycroft was pointing a gun at John. 
> 
> THIS CHAPTER: John grieves the loss of his Doms and meets Morstan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> We are getting close to the end, my friends. I'm thinking maybe 3 or 4 more chapters, but don't quote me on that, as you know I like to ramble on and go off on tangents in my stories :)
> 
> This is beta'd by the wonderful TPurr, who puts up with my ridiculous misspellings like cool vs. coal or hot vs hat.

Chapter 16 – Do You Wanna Know a Secret

A soft buzzing sound broke John out of his stupor. His back had already started aching from leaning over Sherlock’s dead body in such an awkward position. Not to mention his ribs throbbed with a burning pain from the continuous sobs erupting from his throat. His eyes burned from the mixture of salty tears and blood, causing his vision to blur as John looked around for the source.

Sniffing loudly and wiping the obscene amount of goo dripping from his nose, John pulled away from Sherlock with a pathetic whimper. It was a mobile, John realized as he started crawling toward Mycroft in search for the man’s phone. The soft buzzing grew louder as John approached, but the teenager hesitated with his hand poised above the dead man’s breast pocket.

 _I can’t. I can’t touch him, I just can’t!_ John squeezed his eyes together and shot his hand out like a taught rubber band being released. He dug around, cringing when his wrist brushed against some of the red liquid soaking the man’s dress shirt. Finally, John found the phone and swiped to answer before the buzzing stopped.

Though he didn’t have a chance to see who was calling, John recognized the voice instantly. _Fuck._

“Mycroft?” Greg asked when no one answered.

The words just wouldn’t come. _What am I supposed to say? Yeah, um, sorry Greg, I kinda murdered your boyfriend ‘cause he was pointing a gun at me and I’m being mind-fucked by some arsehole named Morstan. Please take care of my best friends though, ta._

“Mycroft? Hello? Who’s there?” the normally calm voice was starting to panic when John still didn’t answer.

The teenager glanced once at the gun lying next to Mycroft’s hand, then at the pool of blood leaking from the man’s abdomen, then spoke. “Greg,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

“John? John is that you? Is everything okay, lad?”

“No, umm, no it’s not okay,” John whimpered, another sob full of agony ripping through his entire body.

“Just listen to me, John,” Greg said, his voice taking on a note of command. John could tell the Dom was up and moving, which meant he’d be at 221B in ten minutes. “Whatever you think you see, whatever you think you hear, it’s not real, remember? It’s just the collar. Is Sherlock there? Or Mycroft? You need to tell them what you’re seeing, alright? They’ll help you until I get there. John?”

“I shot them,” he admitted, the words falling out onto the floor like putrid bile dripping from his lips. It was real now, this was real life and John just admitted to killing two of the most powerful Doms in all of Great Britain.

“You what? John, who did you shoot?”

“Mycroft had a gun and…and she told me I had to or I was going to die! I didn’t…I didn’t mean to Greg, I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry, but I’ll fix this, I swear. I’ll find her and make her pay and then you’ll never have to see me again. I promise.” Just as John was about to hang up the phone, Greg said something the Sub didn’t expect.

“It’s okay, John,” the Dom said. “It is going to be okay, but I need you to listen to me. I’m going to call 999 and have an ambulance come to 221B. If they get there before me, I want you to go hide upstairs in Mycroft’s closet, okay? I don’t want you to have to deal with them by yourself.”

“He’s stalling you!” Morstan growled at John. The cool sketched figure of a woman with bright blue eyes appeared at the door of the study. “Get out of this flat, John, and come home. You know Greg Lestrade will kill you for murdering his lover. Now MOVE!”

“John? John, are you still there? I’m almost there, just don’t do anything stupid.”

“I…I’m sorry, Greg,” John whispered, then hung up the phone to the sound of the Dom shouting at him. “I’m sorry,” John said to the two bodies in the room. Slowly, with his head hung low, John dragged his feet out of the study, and finally, out of 221B for good.

The teenager’s face was bright red when he made his way to the bottom floor. Just as he was about to walk outside, an old lady with short hair and kind eyes walked out of the door down the hallway with a tray of biscuits in her hands. “Oh, hello there,” she said, smiling. “You must be John! Mycroft and Molly have told me so much about you, dear. I’m Mrs. Hudson, the landlady. Won’t you come in for a cuppa? I’ve just made some fresh biscuits for you boys, but I’m sure the Holmeses won’t mind if you and I eat a few first.” She grinned mischievously and lifted the tray to indicate John should follow.  

“A car’s waiting for you outside, John. Hurry, Lestrade is almost there!” A jolt of electricity ran through John, making the boy wince.

“Well, Mycroft might, but I told him,” she said, heading back through the door she came from, “if he doesn’t slow down on those sweets he’ll need to have those vests of his let out. Come along dear. Oh, by the way, what were those loud bangs I heard upstairs? Everything alright? You don’t look well, dear.”

At that, John’s eyes opened wide. _She knows! And now she’ll tell the cops she saw me fleeing the scene. Fuck!_ “Umm, sorry, I have to go.” Before the woman could stop him, John scrambled out the door and into a white sedan without considering where it would take him.

The car started moving immediately. It was just in time too, as the sound of sirens could be heard in the distance. It was at that moment that everything hit him. Ambulances were coming because Sherlock and Mycroft were lying dead inside their flat. They were lying dead inside their flat because John had shot them. _Maybe they’re both still alive. Maybe the medics will get there in time. Maybe, just maybe I’m not a murderer._

“Good boy,” Morstan said approvingly, sending a wave of bliss through the collar. “You did the right thing.”

“Please, shut up,” John cried, planting his face in his hands. “FUCK!” John screamed, his throat burning from the force of the words. With no control over his body, and a dying need to get his anger and grief out, John punched the seat in front of him hard enough to leave an impression in the tan leather.

“Oi!” the driver snapped, glancing back at John with a disapproving look. “This is a rental, kid, and I’m not payin’ for any damage.”

John turned his gaze on the man. Apparently, the young Sub had nailed the ‘I will fucking kill you right now if you say one more word’ look, because the man turned to face the road without another word. _I guess it’s easier to intimidate other Subs._ It was a bit strange, John realized, that he didn’t like the feeling of being able to manipulate others. _Sherlock wouldn’t have backed down. He would’ve laughed and pulled me on to his lap. And Mycroft, ha, he would have rolled his eyes and told Sherlock to mind his Sub…’his’ Sub. Fuck…I’m so sorry, Sherlock._

“We’re here,” the driver said, though it only felt like they were driving for two minutes.

“Where’s here?” John asked, looking out the window to realize they were in a concrete river near the Pipes where John and his Subs used to live. “I don’t understand.”

“Ms. Morstan will explain everything when you get inside. Now get moving.”

John already had blood on his hands, and now he was about to bathe in it, in the name of justice or whatever the fuck this was. Steeling himself for what he was about to do to this Morstan woman, he stepped out of the car, the cold wind burning the wet streaks that were still drying on his face.

Two men, well, more like boys as they couldn’t have been any older than John, stepped into sight from the large pipe. Even though John had been eating three meals a day and had put on at least a full stone since the Holmeses, the two men coming at him were much bulkier.

“Lift your hands up, Watson,” the tall boy with black hair covering his eyes said, his voice much lower than John’s.

John stopped in his tracks and widened his stance. He didn’t know what to expect, but if these arseholes were anything like Irene’s people, John was about to have a fight on his hands. “I’m here to see Morstan,” John said, quite authoritatively he might add.

“And you just shot two people,” the other boy said, his hands suspiciously inside his wool coat pockets. “We need to make sure you don’t have anything that’ll hurt our people. Now put your hands up so Nick can pat you down.”

“Your people? What is this place?” John asked. He didn’t move backwards when Nick started moving towards him.

“We’re like you, John. Subs who’ve had enough of being told what to do.”

John narrowed his eyes at the tall Sub approaching him, but lifted his hands just slightly. Slowly, Nick reached out and ran his hands over John’s chest, sides, legs, and crotch in search for a weapon that John was kicking himself for not bringing. “He’s good,” Morstan’s Sub said and backed away.

“Can we go now? I’d like to meet the woman who made me kill two people,” John said, walking towards the large Pipes instead of waiting to be led. If he’d learned anything from the Holmeses, it’s that confidence will get you at least eighty percent of the way…and according to Greg, good looks get you the other twenty, which for some reason made Mycroft blush every time.

“I understand you’re angry, John,” the bulky one said, walking along side John as they descended into the darkness of the sewers. “But, once you see the bigger picture, you’ll understand everything that happened was for a good cause.”

“Whatever.” Just as the darkness started to completely consume the path, a large light turned on, illuminating a steal door. “This was always down here?” John asked, confused. They had slept just outside for a year and never seen anyone coming in or out of the Pipes.

“Yep,” Nick said, walking up to the door and knocking against the metal in a rhythmic pattern. “You guys were fucking oblivious,” he laughed.

“Nick,” the other chastised. “It’s us, Vicki,” he said to the door, just before it opened to reveal a girl with strawberry blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. She looked John’s age, maybe even younger, with baby fat still on her cheeks.

“What took you so long, CJ?!” she nagged, “Mary’s been waiting in the war room for an hour!”

“War room?” Nick scoffed, pushing John forward with a firm hand in the middle of his back. “It’s a damn closet with battleship pieces spread out on a table.”

“Shut up, arsehole,” Vicki narrowed her eyes as she closed the door and locked it about five different ways. “You’re just pissed Mary hasn’t let you in there yet.”

“Um, how old are you guys?” John asked while they walked down a long corridor lit with flood lights.

“How old are you?” Nick asked defensively.

“Okay, just hold on a fucking minute,” John said, planting his feet firmly and shrugging off CJ’s hand on his bicep. “What’s going on here? Is this whole thing an illusion? Am I going crazy, here, because this just isn’t adding up? You guys are a bunch of kids…and a war room?”

CJ and Nick looked at each other for a long moment, then started laughing hysterically. “Mate, you’ve been living with Doms too long,” Nick said, patting John on the shoulder.

“You don’t have to be suspicious here, John. We’re all Subs, no one is going to trick you or hurt you.” CJ smiled at him, his dark brown eyes reminding John of Greg’s. _Fuck, Greg, he’s probably already found Mycroft’s body._ “Come on, let’s go find Mary. She’ll explain everything.”

“She’s not like that crazy bitch, Irene, either,” Nick said, grabbing John’s arm and pulling him further underground. “Fucking adults think they got shit figured out.”

“Nick,” CJ sighed. “You’ll have to excuse him, John. Mary just liberated him from his Doms three weeks ago and he’s just discovered he won’t get hit for using colorful language.”

John tried not to smile at the sheepish look on the Sub’s face, showing just how young Nick was. “Yeah, she is kinda crazy,” John mumbled under his breath, fighting the feeling of insecurity coming over him. This was not a good place. This was not a safe place. _I came here to kill Morstan, not joke around with her minions._

“Yeah,” Nick laughed.

Finally, after taking multiple flights of stairs deeper into the ground, CJ halted in front of a wooden door.

“Mary,” he knocked the same rhythm Nick had at the entrance, “we have Watson.”

“Come on in, CJ,” a voice came from the other side of the door.

Maneuvering three latches, CJ opened the door and pushed John inside. A woman, maybe Sherlock’s age, looked up from a table that, yes, was filled with battleship figurines. Her short blonde hair was tucked behind her ears, revealing a round soft face with intelligent, calculating blue eyes. Those eyes scanned John, assessing much the way Sherlock used to do. Slowly, she smiled, apparently approving of whatever she’d found while looking at John.

“John Watson,” she said, her voice lower than he’d expected, but feminine in a way that John imagined could be very dangerous. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet the man I’ve heard so much about.”

 _Okay, focus John. Fucking, focus! She hacked your brain to make you kill Sherlock and Mycroft. She has to pay!_ Although John could see his hands wrapping around her throat, squeezing until those pink lips turn blue, his feet wouldn’t move. The only movement the teenager made was his entire body shaking with anger, fear, grief, and every other feeling he never thought possible.

“Hey, mate, you okay?” Nick asked, tapping John on the cheek with the back of his hand. The rubber band snapped, and John’s anger exploded.

John’s fist swung before his mind could catch up with his actions. The connection was made between John’s knuckles and Nick’s cheekbone, resulting in a soft crunch and a sharp yelp. “Don’t you touch me!” he growled. “Don’t any of you touch me!” He was planning on backing out of the room, his fists held high, but instead he ended up backing into the corner of the room.

The result of his outburst wasn’t what the Sub expected. He’d just hit one of their members and the three other Subs were just standing there, their hands at their sides and faces neutral. Nick held his cheek with both hands and crinkled his nose, but didn’t look angry, just shocked. That didn’t mean John would let down his guard though, not now, not ever if he was going to avenge Sherlock.

“No one’s going to touch you, John,” Mary said gently, but not condescendingly John noted. He always hated the way Doms talked to him like he was a child who needed to be coddled. “Nick gets a little too friendly too early sometimes,” she said, pursing her lips at the young Sub rubbing his cheek.

“Yeah, uhh, sorry John. I was skittish too when they first brought me here. I’ll just…uhh, head to the cafeteria, then,” the boy said, keep his eyes on the ground.

John…John felt horrible. _What the fuck is wrong with me?_ He had spent the last four months in extremes; fully alert, on guard, and assessing, or in subspace with no walls or worries. Now, when a kid, a fucking kid, patted him John snapped. He didn’t get a bad vibe, at least not from Nick, but…but this place, what they made him do…he had to be on guard.

“I…I’m…I didn’t mean to…” John stuttered out, the space between his eyebrows wrinkling together. _I’m not supposed to apologize to these people. Am I?_

“No need to apologize, John,” CJ said with a smile. “Nick and I’ll leave you two alone. We’ll be down in the cafeteria if you’re a bit peckish afterwards.”

“Thanks, CJ,” Mary nodded as the two Subs left the room and shut the door. “We’re not going to punish you, John, if that’s what you’re thinking. Violence isn’t what we’re about here.”

 “Then what are you ‘about’ here?” John snapped, putting his fists down but keeping his stance wide. “Because hacking into someone’s brain and forcing them to kill two people is pretty fucking violent! So tell me, Morstan, why am I not beating your bloody brains out right now?”

Although John was attempting to start a fight so he didn’t have to initiate one, Mary’s eyes softened at his attempt. “What happened to them was regrettable-”

“Regrettable?!” John interjected, taking a heavy step forward. _Regrettable that I killed the man I fucking love?!_

“Regrettable,” she continued, “but necessary. You’ll understand soon enough that our goal is peace, not violence. Understanding instead of ignorance. Cooperation instead of fighting. Love ins-”

“Love? What the fuck do you know about love? You…You don’t know anything! You ruined my life! My chance for love, you fucking bitch!” John shouted, his restraint finally falling. He loved Sherlock and now he was dead, now the only person who made John feel special was gone.

The grief stricken Sub charged the woman who was no taller than John. He reached out his hand to grip her neck, when his knees buckled and his eyes rolled back in his head. The floor met his face with a smack, the cold tile doing little to aid the ache already starting at the point of John’s cheek bone. _What the fuck just happened? I was lunging and then…_

“Control, John,” Mary said quietly. She moved to kneel down beside John, placing a hand on his shoulder to roll the teenager over on his back.

John looked up, eyes wide with confusion as he tried to mumble out words using his limp tongue. A slight buzzing at the back of his neck told John everything he needed to know, and he forced a growl low in his throat to show Mary just how pissed he was. “Wwwhh-”

“This,” she tapped the collar on John’s neck, “is all we need to change the future. Oh John,” she smiled like the world had just handed her the answer to the universe. John had a feeling it wasn’t 42. “Do you not see it? I know how smart you are, John, no matter how ignorant Sherlock and Mycroft made you feel.”

“Theeey diidn’” John slurred, trying to lift his head, but letting it fall back down with a thud.

“Of course not, but just think for a moment. What would happen if this collar, a collar that can manipulate thoughts and control actions such as dropping a charging figure to the floor, was placed on, oh say…Gregory Lestrade? Or perhaps other Doms in lead government positions? Or all Doms for that matter? What would happen if we controlled the bliss? What,” her eyes gleamed in the florescent light as a wide smile filled her face, “would happen if Subs had control of everything? What would you do, John, if you had control of your own life?”

 _I…I don’t know._       

          


	17. Carry That Weight

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON CHEMICAL REACTION: John finally meets Mary Morstan and her rebels. He finds out their plan to collar Doms in order to take control of their actions, thus taking control of IBAD and freeing Subs. 
> 
> John takes one step closer to becoming a Rebel. But his Doms are on his trail. Will they catch up in time to stop John from sealing his fate?!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, Hello!
> 
> I'm thinking there is going to be two more chapters. Possibly three if I get carried away! But nonetheless, things are wrapping up for this little series. Thanks so much for sticking with me this far!
> 
> A very special thanks to the amazing TPurr for her editing. The last couple of paragraphs are not beta'd. Any mistakes are mine, so sorry :)

Chapter 17 – Carry That Weight

Greg woke up in a closet. Not the, ‘holy shit I just had the most amazing spur of the moment shag and now we have to sneak out and look natural’ kind of waking up in a closet – which he and Mycroft only did twice, thank you very much. No, this was the holy shit someone drugged me and dragged me into a fucking closet kind of thing. “Bloody hell,” he groaned, raising his palm to the back of his head to feel a large bump forming.

Looking around, his eyes began to adjust to the little bit of light coming in from underneath the door. And yes, this was indeed a closet. A storage closet to be exact, with a bunch of junk littered around everywhere and something hard digging into his kidney. He rolled onto his side and got his forearm under him, bringing on a wave of dizziness. “Bloody hell,” he said again, falling back to the ground.

He laid there for a moment longer, trying to remember how he ended up in a closet with a massive headache. His eyes darted towards the door when he heard voices and footsteps on the other side. Instinct and training kicked in and Greg reached for his sidearm. It wasn’t there. The holster was there, hooked onto his belt like it always was, but his pistol was missing. “Bloody hell!” he repeated, not able to find more words to describe his feelings.

Reaching down towards his ankle, Greg pulled up his trouser leg to find his small .22 was still inside the hidden holster attached to his calf. He quickly grabbed it, checked the clip out of habit, and then aimed it at the door. _Steady Greg, steady. It wouldn’t do any good to shoot some innocent janitor looking for a broom. I can’t even remember where I am, let alone if I’m in hostile territory._

The voices, though muffled, grew closer. When two shadows appeared under the door and the voices halted, Greg steeled himself. _3, 2, 1…_

“Oh thank God,” Greg sighed, lowering his gun when the door opened. “Where the bloody hell have you been?”

.oOo.

**The day before**

John shoved a piece of buttered bread in his mouth, letting the subtle saltiness of the spread coat his mouth. He took a long swig of milk before whiping off the mustache-like residue left on his upper lip. “So you’re tellin’ me you want to crash the Annual Dominant Charity Ball?” he said, bracing his elbows on the table – something Mycroft would never allow, John thought briefly. “You lot are bloody mad!”

It had been three days since John shot Mycroft and Sherlock. The blood, their lifeless faces, the pain he felt in his heart still weighed the Sub down like a giant salt lick sucking out his moisture. But now, after spending time with the 57 Subs Mary Morstan had collected over the past three years, John felt the tiniest bit of…something. _Belonging? Purpose? Hope?_

John tried to chalk it up to a rebound type of response. That had to be it. What kind of guy goes from planning on killing the woman who made him kill Sherlock, to eating lunch with her and a group of Subs talking strategy about crashing a party? _Yeah, has to be a rebound thing._ It was easier to not think about the past. The future, well, John didn’t know what the future held but he had a strong feeling it was up to him now. _Sherlock can’t take care of me anymore. We’re on our own again, John Watson._

Mary, who offered John a room of his own, clothes, food, and shower – a proverbial leg to stand on – sat across from him, staring at a potato chunk stabbed on her fork. “Yes, John, we’ve already discussed how ‘mad’ you think we are for wanting to take control back from the Doms. But I know this is going to work, and all I’m asking is that you trust me for just one more day. And if you can,” her eyes twinkled in a way John was becoming very familiar with. It was intelligent, mischievous, and frightening all at the same time.  “I have a surprise for you to reward your trust in me, in our cause.”

“A surprise?” John asked, cocking his head. _John had never received a surprise he’d liked in his entire life._

“We’re gonna raid that arsehole Addison’s compound!” Kasey, a girl who was a month older than John blurted out around a mouth full of peas. The three Subs sitting at the table with them and Mary snapped their attention to the girl, who hunched down and swallowed hard when she realized she’d spoken out of turn. “Oh…”

“What?” John asked, his eyes growing wide. A small vibration of excitement tickled his skin as the name sparked adrenaline to flow through his veins. “You can’t be serious.”

After giving Kasey a hard look that said she would be on rubbish duty for the next month, Mary turned her attention back to John. “I am serious, John, very. Not only is Addison the owner of one of the largest breeding sites in Europe, he hurt you and tried to purchase you. And no one hurts one of our own.”

“But…what are you going to do to him?”

“What ‘we’ are going to do to him,” she said, stabbing another piece of potato roughly with her fork, “is give him a taste of his own medicine, so to speak.”

“After John has beat the ever lovin’ piss out of him, of course,” CJ mumbled under his breath, the smile on his face the only indication he’d actually spoken.

“Only if you want to, John. I do not condone violence and I will not pressure you into doing something you don’t want to do. But Addison will get the collar; that is something you cannot change.” 

“Fuck,” John whispered, laying his utensil down and scrubbing his hands over his face. _‘You will not use that kind of language while you are my Sub, is that understood, John?’_ The Sub shook his head, attempting to fling the haunting voice from his head. “Sorry,” he said to the Mycroft reprimand.

The other Subs chuckled, but continued eating their meal. “As I’ve told you before, John, there is no need to apologize here. We understand,” Mary told him, reaching out her hand to grasp his now shaking appendage. “Tomorrow afternoon we will go to the Great Hall, we will fill the room with a neurotoxin Bobbi stole from IBAD last year, which will render everyone without a gas mask unconscious. Then,” she smiled, “our strike team will attach the collars to every Dom within the facility.”

“Strike Team Delta!” Christopher, the youngest of the Subs at the table, a mere 12, shouted with his dinner knife held high like a Calvary sword.

“Dude,” his friend Liz sighed, punching him in the arm.

_God, we’re just a bunch of fucking kids._ John finished his meal in relative silence, save for Chris, Liz, and CJ arguing about whether they should be called Strike Team Delta or Strike Team Charlie.

“I’ll walk you to your room, John,” Mary offered, mirroring John’s movements to throw away her paper plate.

As they made their way out of the lunch room, which was just an open area with a bunch of stolen refrigerators, microwaves, tables, and chairs, six teenage Subs said good night to John as they walked by. He had yet to meet a rude or mean Sub down here in the pipes. No one told him what to do, but simply asked if he wouldn’t mind helping. No one shocked him, no one told him he couldn’t feed himself. _No one holds me at night when I can’t fall asleep. No one kissed behind my ear or rubs their hand on my belly._

“I know this has been a big shock for you, John. I can’t express enough how glad I am to see you adjusting so well to these new surroundings.”

“Not like I have much of a choice,” John muttered, hanging his head low as he unlocked the door to his room. A hand on his shoulder stopped him from entering.

“You always have a choice. After all, that is what we are trying to accomplish here; all Subs have a choice over their actions, have a choice of where they want their lives to go. I’m sure you feel forced into this situation, but-”

“Then take off my collar,” John snapped, turning to face the woman who…who was so damn confusing. Her blue eyes were so kind, so tranquil sometimes, while other times she rivaled Mycroft in manipulation and intelligence.

Without hesitation, she reached out with both hands to grasp John’s neck. The boy flinched away, stifling the urge to punch. Too many people, Doms, had messed with the collars around his neck. John was sure he had massive bruising and permanent scars from all the shocking, pulling, yanking, and even removing of his collar.

“If you want me to remove the collar you’ll have to let me touch you,” she said with an amused, but playful grin on her face.

“Just like that?” John asked skeptically. “You’ll take it off? I could knock you out, escape and go tell Lestrade about your little hideout.”

“You could,” she nodded slowly, considering his words carefully. Mary slowly reached again, signaling her movements like Sherlock always did when John was skittish. “But I really hope you don’t. Your abilities, knowledge of both the streets and Doms, and the fact that you are one of the best Sub leaders I’ve ever seen…well…” her hands grasped something on the back of John’s collar, making a soft clicking sound.

He winced at the sharp pain of the needles being pulled out of his neck. “I hope you realize you have a lot of young scared Subs here who need your help more than those Doms out there. They need someone to lead them like you did with your sister, Mike, Jim, and Molly. They need someone who genuinely cares about their well-being, their needs.”

The collar dangled from her fingertips as she offered the piece of leather to John. The metal barbs on the back were stained red with his own blood, but John took it anyway. It was symbolic, in way, John considered. Sherlock and Mycroft were gone. Greg surely wouldn’t take John back. And these Subs, these kids who argued about Team Delta or Charlie or who was tougher, Hawkeye or the Black Widow…they needed John. He felt wanted as he looked down at the flimsy piece of leather and handed it back to Mary.

“Good night,” he said, “I’ll see you in the morning.” Without another word, John closed his door and locked it, though he was under no illusion that Mary didn’t have a skeleton key.

His bed was soft and the blanket was warm as he curled it around himself. When he couldn’t get comfortable, John grabbed his pillow and pressed it against his back and around his flank. Though he would never admit it, barely even to himself, John fell asleep imagining the pillow at his back was his Dom holding him.

.oOo.

“Are you ready for this?” CJ asked, crouched down next to the large rubbish bin. Their faces were pressed against the exposed brick at the back of the Great Hall, where over 100 Doms were celebrating their ‘Domminess,’ as Kasey called it.

“As I’ll ever be,” John replied. He pulled the strap tighter around his chest, the bag of collars heavier than he would have imagined. “Ready on Mary’s mark.” _Damn, okay, that did sound pretty fucking bad ass! Stop being such a kid, John and focus._

“East entrance, ready?” Mary asked. “West entrance? Back? Front?” When high pitched voices answered affirmative for each side of the building, Mary whispered “Nick, Bobbi, release the gas into the ventilation. Masks on everyone and breach at my mark.”

John slipped the full face mask over his head and adjusted it so no gas would leak through. That morning he’d asked CJ where they found 20 masks, but the older boy just laughed and clapped him on the back like John’s question was cute.

“Move in, all groups, move in and collar as many Doms as you can!” Mary shouted, sounding like a military general.

The two other Subs next to John opened the door CJ had picked earlier and rushed in, their masks on and collars in hand. _This is it, John. This is fucking it. I’m not killing anyone, right?_ the Sub rationalized as he followed his fellow teenager into the building. _I’ll be alone without the Resistance._ Doms were passed out on the floor, some with closed eyes, some with fear stricken faces. _No one wants a murderer. That’s what I am. A murderer._ John kneeled down next to a greying-blond man and pulled out a collar from his duffle. _I can’t be alone again._ With a deep breath through the mask’s filters, John lifted the man’s head and snapped the collar around his neck.

“Good work, John,” Mary’s muffled voice called behind him. She put a hand on his shoulder, squeezed to let him know he wasn’t by himself, and then ran over to another Dom.

With shaky hands, John collared three more Doms dressed in beautiful expensive tuxedos and dresses. A few drops of blood fell onto the wood floor as the barbs broke skin. Then, the young Sub came upon a familiar face that made bile rise in John’s throat.

A dark gray haired man lay passed out on the floor, his black suit bunched up and splayed wide underneath him. The Dom had fallen to the ground, unconscious before his head even made contact. “Greg,” John gasped, running over to kneel next to the still man. With a quick glance around the room, he noted his fellow rebels were busy collaring the entire room. No one noticed Greg Lestrade, a very dangerous and influential Dom…at least according to Mary, was vulnerable and ready for the taking.

Letting his instinct, no his heart, take over, John wedged his hands under the man’s armpits and dragged him into a hallway that was thankfully abandoned save for a few unconscious bodies. With a loud grunt, John tugged the man who probably weighed twice as much as the teenager with all that stupid manly muscle shit into a closet and closed the door.

“Fuck, what am I doing?!” John knew he was betraying Mary, betraying all those teenage Subs out there who just wanted a better future for themselves. _But how…how can this man, this…fuck, I’ve never seen Jim or Molly so happy. And it’s because of this…this fucking arsehole! How can I take away his freedom when he’s doing the right things with it? How can I…who am I to choose who wears this stupid thing? I can’t…_

Footsteps outside the door broke John’s train of thought. “Damn it, Greg, you fucking jerk,” John growled, but stood up and stepped back into the hallway. He closed the door and sprinted over to hover over one of the passed out Doms.

“John, I thought we lost you there for a second, mate,” CJ said, coming around the corner.

“No,” John kept his voice from wavering and his eyes from darting to the closet, “just collaring these stragglers.”

“Good thinking, need any help?”

“No,” he said calmly, clicking a collar into place around a woman’s neck. “Are we about done?”

“Yeah, that’s why I came to find you. Mary set off the red smoke bomb. Time to go!” CJ waited expectantly for John, until the blond teenager stood and followed.

The main room of the Great Hall looked like a war zone as John made his way to the exit. Men and woman, now collared, lay still and pale as the victorious Subs high-fived each other and skipped out of the room and into the winter air.

_This is okay. This is our life now, John. This is okay. I’m okay._

“Alright, John,” Mary said, pulling her mask off to reveal sweaty matted blonde hair. “Ready to pay Addison a visit?” She jumped into a gray van and offered John her hand. John took it and hopped in, sliding the door closed behind him.

“Hell yeah.”

.oOo.

“What do you mean, you don’t remember?!” Sherlock bellowed, throwing his hands up dramatically and making a few of the junior agents flinch. “How can you not remember, you useless moron!”

“Sherlock, that is enough!” Mycroft snapped at his younger brother. The eldest Holmes stood next to his lover, who was perched on the opening at the back of an ambulance. Mycroft’s hand was on Greg’s shoulder, squeezing in a rhythm that was meant to be soothing, but only betrayed his worry. “The lab said the gas the Subs used might cause short term amnesia. It is obvious those hooligans gave little consideration as to the long term effects their little act of defiance would cause.”

“Oh Mycroft, don’t be daft, you don’t have the excuse of inhaling that neurotoxin to fall back on like the Detective.” Sherlock scowled. It was all he could do not to ring the neck of every last person who didn’t provide him with an answer to where John was. His Sub. “It is blatantly clear Morstan’s plan is bigger than a little act of defiance.”

“Those collars,” Greg said, his voice a little weaker than normal. “Did they put one on all the guests?”

“Yes,” Mycroft answered, moving his hand to the back of the man’s neck, stroking the short hairs. “But why they spared you…I’m not sure.”

“It was John, of course,” Sherlock said, knowing perfectly well his brave Sub was still on their side even though he thought his Doms were dead. _Still fighting for what you think is right, John. Even when you’re amongst the wolves, you still pull a sheep to safety. Well…I wouldn’t call Greg a sheep…maybe a…deformed fox only a fat oaf like Mycroft could love._ “John dragged him into the closet to protect him from getting the collar.”

“You son of a bitch!” a shout from the entrance of the Great Hall rang through the night air. “Let me go! I’ll kill them! I’ll kill them all!” The man struggled and squirmed in the officers’ hold, lunging towards Mycroft and Sherlock.

“Bloody hell,” Greg whispered. “They’re acting just like Jim and John.”

“We have to put a stop to this,” Mycroft said, watching as the collared Doms were sedated and placed in a transport to be taken back to IBAD. “Sherlock, go talk to the two Subs Agent Vasquez caught sneaking out the back window. Figure out where their next target is. Come, Gregory, let us get you to hospital for a CAT scan.”

“My, I’m fine! John saved me from any real damage. Sherlock might need help if he finds out where the kids are.” The Dom made to stand up, but was held down by his lover’s two strong hands on tired shoulders.

“You most certainly are not going to run after those Subs. Your health is paramount. Now, in you go. Sherlock, I am putting this in your hands for now. Do not fail me,” Mycroft said, glaring at his little brother before pulling Greg into the ambulance.

Taking this task upon himself, Sherlock walked back into the Great Hall, his blood surging through his veins like a bull plowing towards a cape. He spotted the two Subs sitting against a wall, their hands zip tied behind them and terrified looks on their faces. The girl looked a year younger than the curly haired boy next to her. Quickly assessing which one was weaker, Sherlock swooped in to look as large and menacing as possible.

“Boy, stand,” Sherlock commanded, sending out bliss and enough authority that would have made John shutter. _I’m coming, John. I’ll find you._

The boy, who couldn’t have been any older than John, struggled to stand with his hands behind his back. Sherlock grabbed his arm and hauled him to standing, then grabbed his chin to force eye contact.

“S-Sir…” he stuttered out, and fuck if the Sub’s voice hadn’t even changed yet. Sherlock had to swallow down that frustrating conscious John built for him.

“Do you know John Watson?” Sherlock asked, narrowing his eyes.

“You’re Sherlock?” the little girl asked, her voice a tad mousy, reminding him too much of Molly. “John’s Sherlock?”

_John’s Sherlock? Is that what he called me? Is that what he told these Subs?_ Something, a heart many had told him he didn’t have perhaps, cramped and ached in his chest. Sherlock had convinced John, his Sub, his…love, that the teenager shot his Doms. The whole act was for a good reason of course, but Sherlock was starting to think maybe the ends didn’t justify the means. John was suffering right now because of Sherlock and that just wasn’t right! Wasn’t…well it just wasn’t right and Sherlock was going to put a stop to this pain in his heart and the pain in John’s. His John’s.

“I am,” Sherlock nodded, his throat trying to close up on him, but his air of confidence never faltered. It was something he’d learned long ago; 80% of being a Dom and commanding authority was how one appeared, not how one shivered inside. “Tell me where he is.”

The little Sub quirked her mouth in displeasure. “He said you were dead. That’s not very nice to lie.”

These Subs were going to be the death of him. John, Molly, and even Jim had a little piece of him in their tiny grubby hands and they were just children! They were all just children!

“That’s why we need to find him, sweetie,” a voice piped up behind Sherlock.  Greg, with a tired smile and a very angry looking Mycroft by his side, kneeled down in front of the Sub. “I’m sure John misses Sherlock very much.”

Assessing all three Doms very carefully, then looking at her fellow child rebel for confirmation. “We’re not supposed to tell any Doms,” the boy said, taking a step back from Sherlock to press himself against the wall.

“You will tell us this instant, or-” Mycroft snapped, clearly on the edge of exploding. The older brother never did learn how to deal with children. Well, Sherlock never did either to be honest. Sadly, the Holmes boys were cut from the same cloth. Mycroft was interrupted though, thankfully, by Greg, who for some odd reason was amazing with kids.

“What’re your names?” Greg asked, kindly, looking from one Sub to the other.

The children just glared at the grey-haired Dom. They were weak glares, but Sherlock had to give them credit for not caving. John wouldn’t have caved. His blond Sub would’ve searched for a letter opener to stab Greg with while simultaneously shouting ‘fuck you!’ Sherlock smirked.

“There is something wrong with the collars,” Sherlock said, face placid as he conjured up the lie. “They are causing irreversible brain damage. I’m sure that is not your groups plan. Now tell me where John is so I can put a stop to this madness before you two end up with murder charges.”

“Sherlock!” Greg growled, standing back up to look at the young Dom. Now that was a glare. Deep brown eyes narrowed and fixed Sherlock with an intensity to make his knees buckle. Luckily the adrenaline and Dom hormones running through Sherlock’s body forced his joints to hold fast and kept him upright. It was good to be a Dom sometimes, especially with his brother and Greg around who tried to ‘dom’ everything in sight.

“That’s not…” the boy started, his lip beginning to tremble slightly. “We don’t want to hurt them.”

“Of course not, buddy,” Greg swooped in to play good Dom, just as Sherlock anticipated. It worked every time, especially with Subs, as they all (even if some of them fought it) soaked up the attention from a kind Dom when they were afraid or upset. “We know you didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” Greg looked up once more to chastise Sherlock for lying about the collar. “But you need to tell us where John and Morstan are so we can put a stop to this before the damage is irreversible.”

“They’re going to Mr. Addison’s breeding farm,” the girl mumbled under her breath, clearly at odds with her loyalty and morality. “There’re dozens of Subs there who need help!”

“I know, sweetheart,” Greg cooed gently. “We’re going to fix this, but right now I need you to behave and go with the officers, alright? No one is going to hurt you two.”

Sherlock barely heard the last thing Greg said to the Subs as he did a complete 180 and sprinted off to find his brother’s car. He had no idea what kind of nonsense this Morstan was putting into John’s head, and if the boy thought he had nothing to lose then… _please don’t do anything stupid, John. I’m coming. Just please,_ Sherlock begged for the first time in his life, _please don’t do something that can’t be taken back. I can’t protect you. Please don’t kill Addison._


	18. Live and Let Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on Chemical Reaction: John, Mary, and their group of Subs raid a Dom Ball and collar the guests as a start to their plot of collaring and controlling all Doms. John saves Greg from being collared by hiding him in a closet. Mycroft and Sherlock aren't dead...yeah, who knew? and now they know where the Subs are going to strike next; Addison's mansion.
> 
> John and the Subs break into Addison's mansion. John has to make a big decision that will dictate his future. 
> 
> TRIGGER WARNING PLEASE READ: There is a somewhat descriptive scene to do with non-con breeding of minors. If you've followed the story and you know Addison's business, then you'll understand. I've placed a set of 00000 at the beginning and end of the set of paragraphs for those of you who wish to avoid this part. You will not miss anything vital, except for how much of a bastard Addison truly is.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! I really wanted to make this chapter super long, but time just got away from me. Sooo, I've broken it up into two parts so I could get a chapter out today. This is unbeta'd. I apologize for any mistakes, but them's the breaks ):
> 
> Two chapters left now! One after this, and then an Epilogue...that is if Sherlock and John survive! BWHAHA! Sorry...please enjoy. (PS I'm super excited because I was worried I wasn't going to get to use 'Live and Let Die' and 'Knocking on Heavens Door,' which were two out of three songs that inspired me to write part three! But now that I've split up the chapters, I can! Woop!)

Chapter 18 – Live and Let Die

When you were young

and your heart was an open book

You used to say live and let live

you know you did

you know you did

you know you did

But if this ever changing world

in which we live in

Makes you give in and cry

Say live and let die

Live and let die

-          Live and Let Die; The Wings (1973); Guns n Roses (1991)

           

John tried not to focus on where the van was taking him; or more accurately, what he was going to do when he got where the van was taking him. Addison was a monster, that was obvious, but who were John and these Subs to deal out judgement and punishment. Scenarios ran through the Sub’s brain and by the time the van stopped at their destination, John had no fucking idea what he was supposed to do. _Sherlock, what would you do? Why did I have to push him away?! All he tried to do was help take burdens off my shoulders and I fought him and Mycroft and Greg every step of the way. Stupid, John, stupid, stupid, stupid!_

“Are you ready for this, John?” Mary asked from her place across from John. She put her hand on the teenager’s knee, tilting her head in an attempt to make eye contact.

“I…what’s going to happen in there? What is your plan in raiding this guy’s place?”

“Well,” she said, sitting back against the inside of the van, “our first goal is to free the dozens of Subs held captive like live stock. Kids and young adults who didn’t have a Mycroft or Sherlock to buy them back after Addison purchased them.”

John had to fight to keep the whimper bubbling up from inside his soul where the guilt rotted like dying fish. He did have a Mycroft and Sherlock to save him, but now…now all he had was Mary and a bunch of scared kids with neurotoxins and collars.  

“Then, it is up to you what happens to Addison. As I’ve told you before, no one is going to make your decision for you and no one is going to tell you what to do. I am giving you a chance to do as you see fit; whether that means drastic measures or just putting a collar on him.”

“Okay,” John said after a long pause. He still didn’t know what he was going to do once they entered the mansion. Mary’s words though, they settled some of the fear that was building up inside the young Sub. If they tried to force his hand in killing someone again… _Damn it! These people made me kill Sherlock and Mycroft! What are you doing, John?_

John shook his head, squeezing his eyes shut in an attempt to block out the maelstrom building in his gut. The guilt, confusion, anger, despair, and crippling grief all clung together like tar clogging his veins and soul.

“Let’s do this!” a girl the other Subs called Twig – looking at her skeleton like arms and legs, John knew why – shouted and opened the van door.

The sun was starting to set and a light orangey yellow glow shown on the tall glass windows on the front of the mansion. Mary pushed John out of the van with both hands. His feet hit the ground running, the ice chips from the grass splashing up to freeze the Sub’s ankles.

John wasn’t sure what to expect, but ten large men running towards them was not on the top ten, not even the top 100 list of things that might happen. But it did. He stopped in his tracks, sure they were done for, but when ten loud pops rang through the air and the guards fell to the cold ground, John realized he perhaps underestimated the Subs he was with.

“Security’s already been alerted,” Mary said, her voice confident and firm, a General’s voice. “We’ll need to get in as quick as possible before the Doms can abandon ship.” The dozen Subs who stood around her, waiting for orders, looked like soldiers preparing for a fight. “Cody and Joy, you two collar these bastards. Mack, you set the explosives on the door; Lucy and Phillip, you guys cover him. John will lead team Red, CJ, team Blue, and I’ll lead team Yellow once the door is open. Remember, Red finds Addison. Blue locates and secures the breeding rooms. Yellow, we clear the perimeter. Understood?”

“Yes, Ma’am,” all the Subs, save for John, said in unison.

“Only tranq guns,” Mary said, walking over to kneel next to one of the passed out guards. She pulled a gun from the man’s hip holster. “I don’t want to see anyone with these. We’re not here to kill. We are here to liberate and secure our future by collaring every Dom we come across. Is that understood?” She asked again.

“Yes, Ma’am,” everyone replied. Most of the Subs were bouncing from foot to foot, while a select few were biting their lips and looking down at the grass.

“Let’s move out, then.”

At that, three kids ran up to John, looking to him for their next move. “Mary,” John gasped, his hands shaking. “What do you mean, team Red? And these guns?” John pointed to the unconscious men, “what are we doing? This is insane!”

“We’re not killing anyone, John.” Mary held out a tranquilizer gun to the young Sub. “I need you to lead them. Show them violence is not the answer. Show them how to take back our choice. This is it, John. Prove me right about you. Lead.” She shoved the gun at him, and motioned for three Subs, team Yellow, to follow her towards the mansion.

“Sir?” one of the Subs, Tommy, asked expectantly. They looked so young, John noticed, making his heart hurt and his gut clench. This was…this was too much, but there was nothing John could do except shove the tranquilizer gun in the back of his waistband and jog towards the house. “Let’s go. Don’t leave my sight, any of you. And…don’t call me sir, for fuck’s sake,” John tried to chuckle to relieve the stress of what was about to happen. It felt like there was a big black hole pulling John closer and closer to oblivion, to his fate.

The three kids laughed nervously, but followed John’s every move, mimicking how he shoved the gun in his waistband. When they made it up to the front door, John was surprised it was already breached and Mary and CJ were leading Subs into the building.

_Here goes nothing._ John set a jogging pace as they entered the house, keeping an eye on the three Subs following him. The place was suspiciously empty. For a moment, John thought they were too late and everyone had abandoned the facility once they realized a bunch of armed Subs were raiding them. That was until John turned the corner to see a sight that…to see a sight that…

00000000000000000 (TRIGGER WARNING)

John fell to his knees, his stomach lurching until his lunch ended up on the floor in a splattered mess. His eyes burned with tears and his nose leaked onto the floor in an attempt to rid his body of what he’d just seen.

“Sir?” one of the Subs gasped, while the other two shrieked in anguish at the sight of what was actually happening at Addison’s breeding farm.

The smell of sweat, fear, and chemicals filled the air, as did groans of pain and screams of agony. John looked up to see rows and rows of cots with boys from thirteen to mid-twenties lying strapped down from calf to forehead. What looked like milking machines farmers used on cows were attached to each male’s genitals. Some were vibrating and pulsing, while others lay still, limp against the boys’ thighs.

Each boy had a collar around their neck, though it didn’t look like the same collar John was used to. Their eyes were all blank, staring at the ceiling. Even the ones who were being _milked? Holy fuck_ seemed to only twitch in their bonds as they gazed at nothing.

“John!” Kathy, the young Sub next to him cried, running over to the other end of the room where a glass wall separated the boys from the…girls. The Sub placed her hand on the glass, looking back at John with fear and uncertainty in her eyes.

John felt his stomach churn again. His hand hit the wood floor so hard he felt his knuckles crack, but he didn’t care. He couldn’t care, not when he saw at least twenty young girls, the same ages as the boys, with either round bellies or an odd looking tube running under their hospital gowns going between their legs.

The women…girls, who were pregnant weren’t strapped down, but the ones who were _in the process?_ were held down by thick leather bands.

00000000000000000 (YOU ARE NOW EXITING THE TRIGGER WARNING ZONE)

A growl John had never heard from himself ripped through his throat. It was inhuman almost, and it portrayed just how he felt inside. _I’ll kill him. I’ll fucking rip his throat out!_ As the angered Sub stood, his legs shaking uncontrollably, he made his decision. “Kathy, you stay here and start freeing these Subs. Craig, go find CJ and tell them we found one of the breeding rooms.” John left before the Subs, the Subs who were under his protection, could argue.  

A loud thudding filled the teenager’s ears as he sprinted through the hallways of the mansion; the mansion that was paid for by the forced torture and breeding of Subs not even old enough to fight back, Subs who had never known the soft, protective touch of a Dom. Every other sound around John faded into the background, until finally, he came across two women and one man rushing around a room, shoving vials, discs, and papers in duffel bags.

“Where is he?!” John shouted, pulling out his tranquilizer gun and training it on the three Doms who paused and looked up at him. The three exchanged looks, confusion, anxiety, and uncertainty passed between them.

“Go back to where you came from, boy,” one woman ordered, giving her best attempt at Domming John. “Hurry up, Arthur, we can’t let IBAD get their hands on this stuff.”

_What? IBAD’s here? I have to get to Addison first, he’s mine!_ John’s finger twitched with intent, dropping the woman and man in an instant. “Tell me where Addison is, NOW!” John shouted, stomping towards the woman, who looked more frightened than John anticipated. The Sub didn’t realize how his features changed when murder was on his mind.

“Who are you? Where’s your collar?” the woman asked, dropping the vials full of white liquid. _Is that…is that semen?_

“Your time for questions is over, scum. Now tell me where he is before I show you what an un-collared Sub is capable of.”

“T-There’s a secret garage,” she said, backing up until she hit the wall. “Turn right until you reach the stairs. Go down to the basement, that’s where he should be…that is unless he’s already left.”

Just as the Dom finished, John shot her in the neck with the tiny needle. She collapsed to the floor with a thud. John fought off the impulse to kick each of them in the stomach before he went after the big fish.

John took out two guards, nicking one of their side arms as well, on his way to the basement. The sound of IBAD agents could be heard as boots slammed against the wood. There was no telling how many agents had now infiltrated the mansion, on the heels of Mary’s Subs, but that’s not what mattered right now. All that mattered to John was cutting off Addison’s balls and shoving them down his fucking Dom throat.

“Get down! Drop the guns and stand down!” Shouting from upstairs echoed through the halls. “Retreat, CJ, retreat!” The Subs were being taken down by IBAD and everything was about to end, but not before…

“Turn around you fucking bastard,” John growled, holding the guard’s pistol with both shaky hands.

Addison, who wore a pressed suit and pomade slicked hair, stood in front of a wall safe with his hand on the dial. The Dom halted his movements, but didn’t turn around to face John. The Sub knew he was being underestimated and that was fine by him. John would strike when the man least expected it!

“John Watson,” Addison said slowly, smoothly. “Are you responsible for bringing those Subs and IBAD to my little abode? If you wanted to be my Sub, you could have just asked. I would have picked you up in a second if it meant I could have a bunch of handsome blue eyed baby Subs.” Finally, the Dom started to move, however instead of turning to face John, Addison’s fingers continued to turn the large round dial.

“You’re going to pay for what you’ve done, arsehole!” John said again. He could feel his vocal cords opening up, making his tone deep and threatening like Sherlock was able to do. “IBAD’s here and your little breeding gold mine is over. I…I should kill you for what you’ve done to these kids.” Flashes of the Subs lying on the beds, strapped down with tears running down their faces flicked through John’s brain, bringing a whimper from the boy.

“Oh, really?” Addison said, the smile evident in his voice. He opened the safe slowly, though John couldn’t see what was in it, and pulled something out, securing it in his hand. “We’ve graduated to killing now, have we? I wonder what your Doms would say about that? Oh, wait, they can’t can they? And why is that, J-”

Before the Dom could finish, John’s finger pulled the trigger. The reverberation from the gun bruised John’s broken hand, but he didn’t care when he heard the blood curdling scream and saw Addison curled up on the floor clutching his thigh. “You little bastard! You shot me!”

“And I’ll do it again if you don’t shut your fucking mouth! I’ll aim for your brain next time, too!”

“John!” a familiar voice boomed from behind him.

The Sub’s instincts told him to turn around, to see if it was true, if the Dom he killed was behind him. John knew though, he knew it couldn’t be true and Addison was just trying to mess with his mind. “Fuck off!” John snapped, not looking behind him, not daring to take his eyes off of Addison.

Sherlock was dead. John shot him and John was about to kill Addison. It didn’t matter anymore, really. John could shoot the Dom dead and it wouldn’t bring Sherlock back. He’d end up in jail at worst, or get the shot at best. Yeah, that’s what was going to happen, John told himself. As soon as he pulled the trigger, ending the abomination sitting on the floor, Greg or some IBAD agent would come in and arrest John. They’d keep him in confinement for a week and then label him as unfixable with no Dom willing to take him. Alone. Damaged. Trouble. Violent. A blight on society…Alone.

Then…Then John would lie on a cold metal table while a needle was inserted into this arm and as his eyes closed, Sherlock would greet the Sub with a smile and say…

“John, put the gun down, now!”

_No, no that’s not what he’d say. Why would he be saying that?_

“Oh, John my boy, looks like you’re in trouble,” Addison, said, backing himself against the wall as he attempted to stop the bleeding in his thigh.

“I’m not an idiot, Addison. You and I both know Sherlock’s dead and he’s not coming back. And he is most certainly not-”

“Standing behind you?” the deep voice said.

At that, John couldn’t stop his feet from doing an about face. That’s when John thought he was really going crazy. He’d seen Mycroft turn into a were-monster and sow kids up in a body bag and John had believed it. But now, as the man he’d shot, the man who’s chest was stained with the teenager’s tears, stood before him more regal than ever, John couldn’t believe it.

“Hello, John,” the Sherlock figment said, a small unsure smile that was so Holmes-like it struck a small piece of iron against flint inside John’s heart. “Please, put the gun down and let’s go home.”

_Home? Baker Street?_ John didn’t believe it. He couldn’t believe it, because if he did…if Sherlock Holmes was alive, then that meant John wasn’t alone, that meant John wasn’t unwanted, that meant John didn’t have to shoot Addison, that meant John had a Dom, that meant John was loved. The thought of all those feelings coming back, and the memory of how much it hurt having them ripped from him when Sherlock’s face paled and his eyes glazed over sent John into an unstoppable rage.

The tectonic plates shifted and lava came bubbling, no exploding, out of John. If this really was Sherlock standing before him, and the Dom tricked him, lied to him, John was going to strangle the life out of the fucking bastard.

Letting the gun fall out of his grip, John lunged.                

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry to all you guys a couple hours ahead of EST. I promised this chapter on Sunday...but hey, it's not my fault you guys insist on living in the future.


	19. Knockin' on Heaven's Door

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON CHEMICAL REACTION: John and the rebel Subs invade Addison's mansion. They find Subs who are being bred like live stock. John tracks Addison down to a secret garage entrance in the basement. Gun in hand, John is ready to kill the Dom until he hears Sherlock's voice behind him. Is Sherlock real? Or a figment of John's imagination? 
> 
> THIS CHAPTER: John is super pissed and super happy that Sherlock is alive. Addison makes a bad decision...a very very bad decision. Public service warning, DO NOT MESS WITH SHERLOCK'S JOHN.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello!
> 
> My awesome beta TPurr edited this chapter for me and just emailed it, so I thought I should go ahead and post it to celebrate the holiday weekend (in the US, at least.) And to celebrate the rise of the Gemini! Yeah, sorry, just kidding (but not really...because Sir ACD was a Gemini...enough said.) 
> 
> Okay, okay, y'all know I ramble like no body's business, but I hope you've come to accept it or at least learned how to scroll down to get to the story and avoid my BS. I know I said this was going to be the last chapter before an epilogue, but again, I ramble so there is going to be one chapter and THEN an epilogue. Thanks for reading and enjoy, friends!

Chapter 19 – Knocking on Heaven’s Door

It's getting dark too dark to see…

…That cold black cloud is comin' down

Feels like I'm knockin' on heaven's door

Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door

Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door

Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door

Knock-knock-knockin' on heaven's door

-          Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door; Bob Dylan (1973) Guns N’ Roses (1991)

           

John slammed the body below him into the ground. The vibrations traveled through his arm muscles and into his spine, stopping particularly at the broken bones in his left hand to shatter the fragments even more. But the Sub didn’t care about the searing pain in his knuckles; to be honest, he didn’t even feel it…didn’t feel anything except anger.

Wrapping his hands around Sherlock’s _Sherlock?_ neck _,_ John growled and squeezed hard enough to cut off the man’s air supply. “J-” the Dom tried to say as his face began to turn red.

“You stupid fucking arsehole!” John shouted, spit flying from his mouth onto Sherlock’s face. “You’re dead! YOU. ARE. DEAD! I shot you and saw you die, Sherlock!” Flashes of the pale, lifeless Sherlock lying on the floor ran through the tortured Sub’s mind. Now, a very alive, and very Sherlock-looking Sherlock was looking up at him with eyes that seemed to have blue plasma coursing through them.

The teenager continued to squeeze the Dom’s throat, tears falling from his watery eyes, until another voice from the grave broke him out of his anguish and rage. “John Hamish Watson, release him at once.” It was an order, and a strong one at that, but the adrenaline flowing through John’s veins and the fact that he didn’t have a collar around his neck meant the command was ignored.

_It’s not real. Mycroft can’t be alive. I shot him. I shot him and Sherlock and this is another mind fuck! Well fool me once you fuckers!_ “Fuck off!” John growled. The man below him started to gasp, but he didn’t struggle or try to roll John off even though Sherlock was much larger.

_This isn’t real. This isn’t real._ “This isn’t real. This isn’t-”

“John, stop,” a voice he’d only heard once before called to him. John looked up to see a small boy, maybe nine or so, with bouncy dark curls and a dreadful frown on his face. The image was fuzzy at best, but John knew exactly who it was standing over in the corner staring him down with cobalt eyes. “Please.”

“But you’re dead. I…I shot you…I-I killed you,” John whimpered, little pieces of his shell falling off and withering into ash on the floor.

“You said you wouldn’t leave me, John,” the little boy pouted, his lips pursing in a way that was far beyond his years.

“I-I’m not leaving you…I didn’t mean to…please, Sherlock, I’m sorry.”

“I’m not leaving you either, John,” the boy…no, man, said below him; the deep voice echoing through the room, its vibrations forcing the boy in the corner to fade away.

John’s neck whipped to look below him so quickly the muscles clenched and strained. His hands must have loosened during his conversation with the… _figment? Dream? Hallucination?_ Because Sherlock’s face had returned to its normal color and he was now staring up at John, his brow wrinkled and his eyes kind.

“Sherlock? You’re not…dead?” the word came out as a choked off whisper.

“No,” the man, his Dom, Sherlock Fucking Holmes, said. “You see,” Sherlock went into a long explanation of why he lied to John and tricked his Sub to think he’d murdered his two Doms. John wasn’t listening though. All the young Sub could think about as the infuriating Dom spoke calmly, was how pissed he was at Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes.

Sherlock had broken John down with soft massages, sweet words, and delicious food. John hadn’t thought he had the ability to trust anymore until Sherlock had shown a tiny light inside the Sub’s heart. Sherlock had gained John’s trust, was helping to make the teenager whole again. And then, Sherlock had intentionally taken a sledge hammer and smashed John into a million little pieces.

“…So, can you get off me now?” Sherlock asked, a somewhat smug smile that he was trying to hide on his face.

Then, a shaky fist cocked itself and slammed straight into the man’s face. John’s fist landed square on Sherlock’s cheek, successfully breaking the bones in his other hand. It was so worth it though, to see the shocked look on Sherlock’s face. But fuck was John relieved that those blue eyes were staring back at him. He was so relieved in fact, that the Sub continued to throw punch after punch without even feeling the sharp pain in his knuckles.

It wasn’t until arms looped under his and wrapped around John’s chest that Sherlock’s face was spared. John’s arms continued to swing and his feet kicked at Sherlock’s legs. “You fucker! You lied to me! I’ll kill you, Sherlock! Let me at him!”

“Hey, calm down, lad,” the man who was the only person to call John, ‘lad’, said. Greg had a tight hold on the Sub, who continued to thrash around in anger. Thoughts of Addison and Mary were completely gone, with the stupid fucking lying bastard taking front stage. John loved Sherlock, loved him, but God did he want to throttle the piss out of him! “John, relax,” Greg said in a relaxing tone, but knew better than to try and dom the Sub.

“You stupid…” John huffed, his body starting to tire and go lax. It had been a long day, physically and emotionally, and the teenager was about at his wit’s end. “…Bastard.”

 “Yeah, I think he’s got that,” Greg laughed, relief in his tone when some of the tension left John’s body. “We can all agree the Holmes men are right buggers, but this is neither the time, nor the place to address that.” The strong Dom finally let go of John’s chest with a quick pat and a hand through his sweaty hair.

“First, second, and third stories are cleared, Sir,” a man in full gear, combat boots, black cargo trousers, black bullet proof vest, and to top it off a black helmet with goggles on top, said, shifting his gun from one hand to the other. “We’ve got all Subs, rebel and hostage, secured and we’re loading them into the vans now. It seems the rebels already took out most of the Doms working with Addison.”

“Good,” Greg said, keeping one hand on John’s shoulder as he turned to face the monster huddled on the floor with a bleeding leg. “Send Brooks and Valez down here with zips and a gag. I don’t want to hear this arsehole while he’s escorted to holding.”

“Yes, Sir,” the man nodded and ran up the stairs to find the other agents.

Coming down a little from the adrenaline high caused by blinding rage and grief, John looked down at his Dom who was now sitting up and holding his bloody nose. “Sherlock,” he gasped, and fell to his knees right next to the man. John quickly buried his face as deep as possible into the man’s chest, grateful when he felt two familiar arms wrap around him, enveloping him in a safe warm cocoon. 

“John,” Sherlock murmured in his ear. “I’m here. I’m here, now, shh. It’s okay, I’m here,” the man kept cooing, rubbing slow circles on John’s back to soothe the shaking Sub.

“Bastard,” John couldn’t help but say again, but this time with a fond smile on his face. “Can we go home, now?”

“Yes. Yes, let’s go home.” Sherlock somehow managed to stand up while still keeping John in a tight hug. Finally, the Dom let go, but kept a firm hand on the back of John’s neck, leading him, protecting him. John felt cold without the embrace, but knew it was only a matter of time before he was back at 221B with Sherlock wrapped around him like a curly haired octopus.

John glanced back once to see Greg standing over Addison. The wounded man continued to glare at John, then…a slow smirk came across Addison’s face. _What’s he…?_

Turning his body around so his chest hit Sherlock’s, John could finally see what the Dom on the floor had pulled out of the safe. John had forgotten completely about why they were even here, why Mary wanted to raid this place, and what kind of monster this man really was.

Addison had a black device in his hand that looked like some sort of button or trigger. “Lights out, John,” the Dom said, as if he and John were the only two in the room.

“No!” John shouted, unsure of what would happen if Addison activated the button in his hand. He tried to push Sherlock away so he could lung towards the man, but his Dom was a large unmovable mass. “Greg, stop h-” before John could finish, Addison pressed the button.

A loud pop and bang rang through the room, making the building shake and the lights go out. The room was left in complete darkness and only in silence for a moment, until a loud grunt and scuffling filled the room.

“Grab him!” Grunt. Thud.

“Sto’” Thud. “‘im!” Another thud. Wheeze.

“God damn it! Someone turn on the lights!” Greg shouted. “Turn on your torches, lads, and keep your heads. Don’t let these bastards get the upper hand.”        

“Sherlock,” John grunted, pulling away from the hands on his shoulders. “Let me go. We can’t let him-umph” Suddenly, hands that weren’t ones John recognized wrapped around his stomach and began to pull him away from his Dom. “Sherlock!” he squeaked and began to struggle.

“John!” he heard Sherlock yell, but couldn’t see his own hand in front of his face.

“Let me go, you fucker!” John growled, twisting around so his fist connected with the man’s groin and his foot locked behind the other. The man, Addison John assumed, grunted and fell to the ground, bringing John down with him.

The air was knocked out of his lungs by the impact, but John continued to flail his arms and swing aimlessly. “You stupid little shit!” Addison whispered, grabbing John’s forehead first, then moving down to wrap around his throat.

“Someone get the lights back on!” Greg shouted, flipping on a small torch. Finally, all the agents turned on their torches and looked around to see where the struggling noises were coming from.

“John!” Sherlock, Mycroft, and Greg shouted at once when the two men rolling on the floor were illuminated.

“Get off me!” John whimpered, trying to push the man off with his broken and numb hands. They rolled along the floor twice more before all commotion was stopped by a loud paralyzing bang. John’s ears rang and for a moment he didn’t even realize there was a bullet hole in his shoulder.

Addison looked shocked as the gun dropped from his hand and blood from John’s wound fell onto his chest. “Ow,” John groaned. Another set of hands wrapped around his stomach for the ump-tenth time tonight, pulling him up and away.

“If I have to say it again, all of you are bloody fired. Now, someone get the lights on!” Greg shouted, his voice right next to John’s ear as he pulled the Sub away from Addison. “And get eyes on Sherlock!”

“Greg,” John panted, feeling more and more tired with every heartbeat he could feel in his shoulder. “It doesn’t hurt that bad, actually. Huh.”

“He’s in shock,” Mycroft’s voice said from above, somewhere. John couldn’t really tell though and he didn’t really care. He was floating away, almost as if bliss had taken hold of him.

Some loud shouts could be heard and then he was being passed from one person to the other. “Sherlock, stop!” Greg shouted. “Don’t let him get the gun, Smith! Damn it!” There was more grunting and a growl he’d heard before, Sherlock’s growl. Then, a God awful scream echoed off the walls, bringing John back to consciousness a little bit.

“Sherlock?!” John gasped, attempting to move toward the sound.

“It wasn’t Sherlock,” Mycroft whispered next to the side of John’s head. The Dom kept one arm around John’s middle, while the other pressed painfully on his shoulder. He let John basically lay on him as Mycroft was half propped against the wall in a sitting position.

John listened to his own breathing for a while, taking advantage of the darkness of the room to focus his mind. The slow up and down of Mycroft’s chest soothed him enough to let his eyes close and…

“Stay awake, John,” Mycroft snapped, applying a touch more pressure on John’s wound.

“Ahh!” John shouted, attempting to squirm away, but he found his body too tired to fight at all. “Sherlock,” he whined, needing his Dom.

After what seemed like forever floating in the darkness, the lights snapped on to illuminate the room. His vision fluctuated, going in and out of focus and making John a little bit nauseous. When he saw Addison’s bloody, mangled, and lifeless body on the ground, it put the Sub over the edge.

“Gonna throw up, now,” he mumbled, thankful when Mycroft tipped him over so he could empty his stomach on the floor. When the Dom pulled him back up, shifting so he could pull them into a standing position, John saw Sherlock on the other side of the room.

Greg was bodily lying on top of the younger Dom, a knee in his lower back, a hand holding Sherlock’s behind his back, and the other gripping the disheveled dark curly hair. Sherlock’s face had blood splattered over his forehead and cheeks, but the majority of Addison’s blood was covering the Dom’s fists. Sherlock was growling and bucking on the floor in an attempt to break free from Greg’s hold and attack what he’d already killed.

The next thing John knew, he was being gently carried out of the room; away from Sherlock. “No,” he said weakly, reaching back with his good arm. The hand, his hand, that reached towards his Dom was an angry red, mixed with black and yellow blotches.

“He’ll meet us at hospital, John. You’re going to be alright, son. I’ve got you,” Mycroft kept cooing to him as John was put into a vehicle. His vision went in and out during the ride until finally, he couldn’t keep his eyes open any longer. Even Mycroft’s shouting and commanding couldn’t bring the Sub back from where he was headed. _Is this death?_

.oOo.

“You need to calm down, Sherlock,” Greg growled, his voice deep and threatening. “Pull yourself together.”

But Sherlock did not want to pull himself together; he wanted to crawl back over and rip every limb, tooth, eyeball, and fingernail off the man who shot John, his Sub. His body couldn’t make its way over there though, at least not with Greg, the fat, over-reactive ape, lying on top of him. With another growl, Sherlock used what little leverage Greg left him and attempted to throw the man off his back. It didn’t work.

“Oi!” Greg snapped at him, “they’re taking John to hospital. That’s what you should be worried about, not pointless revenge. Now stop thinking like a mindless animal and. Calm. Down.” Greg shook him a little, digging his knee harder into Sherlock’s kidney.

Sherlock shifted so he could see Addison’s still body, then, shifting his eyes upward, he could see John being carried out of the room by Mycroft and another agent. The boy’s voice called his name, making Sherlock’s heart clench and tears form in his eyes. “John,” he wheezed, unable to fully breathe with the weight on him. He knew Addison wasn’t dead yet, knew he hadn’t beaten the scum’s brains in yet…but, he needed to take care of John, first. Yes, John was what mattered. “Okay,” he said, going lax under Greg.

The older Dom didn’t let him go, though, and pressed harder down on Sherlock’s arm. “Smith, how far out is the ambulance?”

“Five minutes, Sir,” the man, a small, stocky man who was cheating on his wife, said in a nasally voice that grated on Sherlock’s every nerve.

Greg sighed, contemplating. Sherlock knew exactly what was about to come out of the man’s mouth, and waiting here until the medics could take Addison away was unacceptable. “I won’t touch him,” Sherlock said quickly, sincerely. The young Dom’s mind was now tunneled, focusing only on the mangled Sub that was carried out of the room. “Just get me out of here and to hospital, to John.”

“You just beat the shit out of someone, Sherlock. Hell, I don’t even know if Addison’s going to wake up after that. There is no way I can take you anywhere but-”

“My chest hurts!” Sherlock said quickly. “You have to take me to hospital, Detective. Or would you rather risk the brother of the owner of IBAD experiencing heart failure because he was taken to jail instead of given the proper medical care?” Even though his face was pressed into the floor, Sherlock smirked as he gained the upper hand over Greg. That didn’t stop the gray haired Dom from whacking Sherlock on the back of the head.  

“You stupid git,” Greg said, angry but nonetheless quite amused. He quickly lifted himself off Sherlock, grabbed the younger man by the neck and bicep, and then hoisted him up to stand. Sherlock was then ushered out of the room, Greg taking extra care to place himself between Addison and his destroyer. “You do realize you stand a better chance of keeping all your limbs if I take you to jail rather than your brother at Hospital, right?”

Shivers ran up Sherlock’s spine at just the thought of his brother’s furious glare…but, _I need to get to John! He’s hurt!_ “I need to be there when John wakes up,” Sherlock said quietly, looking away from Greg. The hand on his neck squeezed and pulled back, stopping just as they stepped outside the mansion.

Greg gazed at Sherlock, assessing the younger Dom and his words. “That’s all I needed to hear,” he said with a smile. His smiles were always so sincere; it made Sherlock want to puke sometimes. But nevertheless, that smile meant Greg would take him to John and most likely take care of all the legal issues that came with beating a man’s face in. “He’s still going to kill you though,” Greg said, pushing Sherlock towards his car.

“Most likely,” Sherlock murmured, looking around as rebel Subs and Addison’s Dom employees were loaded into cars and ambulances. _If John’s dead…then I’ll force Mycroft to kill me._ “Most likely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't planning on sending John to the hospital anymore, but I think him getting shot in the shoulder is so symbolic; it's just John Watson.


	20. Sweet Child of Mine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chemical Reaction: A process in which atoms of the same or different elements rearrange themselves to form a new substance. While they do so, they either absorb heat or give it off.
> 
> Previously: John finds out Sherlock and Mycroft are alive. After raiding Addison's mansion, John gets into an altercation with the Dom and ends up getting shot in the shoulder...I know, who would've guessed?
> 
> This chapter: We're gonna wrap up almost all the loose ends. There will be an epilogue a couple years into the future to clear up anything I've missed or couldn't fit into the beast of a chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Phew...so sorry about the wait on this one guys. With my mom visiting and too much fucking dialogue in this chapter, I've been struggling. But, it's done and I'm 75% happy with it. It still needs a lot of editing grammar wise, because I'm posting this when I'm super tired. 
> 
> So, one more chapter after this. Just a short little epilogue to get a glance at where everyone is going to be in a couple of years...and possibly smut :) But I'll put up proper warning for those of you who aren't into that kind of stuff. 
> 
> Thank you all so, so much! Your support and encouraging words have really kept me going with this story. I hope you like the ending, because I rarely like any ending I've ever read or written...I think that's why my short stories become three part series with 20 chapters. I hate ending things and I hate good byes, so who knows. Somewhere down the road I might pick this one up again...but not for quite a long while :)
> 
> Now read the freaking chapter! Jeez, it took me forever to write this little bastard!

Chapter 20 – Sweet Child of Mine

 

[He's] got eyes of the bluest skies

As if they thought of rain

I hate to look into those eyes

And see an ounce of pain

 

[His] hair reminds me of a warm safe place

Where as a child I'd hide

And pray for the thunder

And the rain

To quietly pass me by

 

Oh, oh, oh

Sweet child o' mine

Oh, oh, oh, oh

Sweet love of mine

            - Sweet Child of Mine; Guns N’ Roses

 

Like so many times before, John wanted to give up, give in. There was a moment when the feeling that he might be able to stop his own heart by raising a white flag seemed like the best option…okay, the easiest option, but nonetheless, it was at the top of the list.

John’s body hurt all over, especially his shoulder and hands. _God, hands shouldn’t be able to hurt this bad._ A slight vibration ran through the teenager’s body every half a second, sending shockwaves of flames through his extremities. Then, it dawned on him that it was his own damn heartbeat creating so much pain.

As John lay, somewhere – hell, he didn’t even know where he was at this point – thinking about dying, one stupid fucking image kept trying to creep into his mind’s eye. One, Sherlock some-stupid-posh-unpronounceable-middle-name Holmes had weaseled his way inside John’s heart and was making it ache with more pain than he thought possible.

_Stupid Sherlock. Arse hole. I fucking hate you, you bastard._ John continued to rant inside his head, calling his Dom every vulgar name he could think of and claiming how much he loved him, but at the same time how much he didn’t love Sherlock …until he realized the words weren’t just staying in his head.

A slight chuckle echoed off of what sounded like metal walls. John slowly opened his eyes, scared of what he might see when he took in a world that might be a figment of his imagination. As he took in his surroundings, for some reason, John’s brain couldn’t decide whether it was real or a dream. But, that’s why John shot Sherlock and Mycroft in the first place; reality and nightmares come hand in hand.

John was in a… _sewer? Drain? Where the fuck am I? Ohhh._ Realization hit him when he saw about half a dozen Subs, including those in his own group, sleeping curled up at the edge of a drain pipe. He was back at the Pipes, but why all the other kids were there, John didn’t know. “Harry? Jim?” John called out, standing in… _wait, what?_

John looked down to realize he was no longer in a hospital bed, but standing in a small puddle. Looking around for any more clues, John spotted a little head poking out to look at him from the pile of sleeping children. The brown curls and the pale face gave him away instantly and let John know this was definitely not real. “Sherlock, what’s going on?”

The little boy put his fingers to his lips, looking around nervously. Confused for only a second, John heard low growl coming from behind him. The Sub turned around quickly to see Mycroft, but not Mycroft, hovering over him. Large claws and sharp teeth glinted in the little bit of light shining in at the end of the Pipes.

Another inhuman growl broke John out of his stupor. The boy yelled at the top of his lungs. “RUN!” John turned and ran, making as much noise as possible to wake the other kids. They remained still and prone, though, even with the clanging from Mycroft’s paws hitting the metal. “Fucking run!”

When John reached the edge of the pipe, his foot just on the edge, he was thrown back by a huge wave of flames. His face felt like it was on fire and his trouser legs actually were ablaze by the very real fire scorching the foliage just outside the pipe.

_“His temperature is too high,”_ an odd ethereal voice echoed in his mind.

“Sherlock, get Molly! Harry, Jim, Mary! Wake the fuck up!” John screamed, rolling away from the flames. His head was throbbing and his body was burning up, but John grabbed one of the smaller sleeping kids and held them secure.

They were caught between fire and the beast, who was growing closer and closer as he contemplated what to do. _“Hold him still, we have to keep the cooling pads in place before this fever gets out of control.”_

_“Get them out of here, damn it!”_

_“Sherlock, let go! Mycroft, I said out! No, don’t give me that look. Out!”_

“Sherlock?” John asked, his entire body going limp. The Sub fell to the ground, dropping the…whoever was in his arms before was gone now. John was alone, cold and hot at the same time, scared and calm at the same time, in love and out of love to give at the same time. “Sherlock…”        

John blinked, opened his eyes to see sharp fangs, blinked, opened to see fire consume his entire body. He screamed, and screamed, and screamed, but all he could think about…was God damn Sherlock Holmes.  

“John! John! It’s okay, son. They're just hallucinations,” the words that were in his head were now coming from a woman above him.

“Sherlock,” he mumbled, the blurry white room making the bile in his stomach turn.

“Shh, it’s alright. You’re safe.”

John’s eyes closed again, but the beast and fire were gone. The fever had wiped out everything in John’s mind; only blackness remained.  

.oOo.

John spent another three days in hospital before the staff insisted he and his Doms leave. Not because John was actually well enough to leave, no, the doctor’s said he needed at least another week under their supervision to make sure the set bones in his hands healed properly and his infection was completely wiped out; it was the fact that both doctors, nurses, and staff alike were going to murder Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes if they stayed there for one more second.

John thought it funny at first, watching Sherlock argue with the nurses on how much morphine John needed, how there was too much or not enough light coming in through the blinds, or, John’s favorite, how can the staff be so eternally moronic that they would give his Sub one pillow instead of two because it is obvious by the curvature of John’s spine that he is most comfortable with more elevation. The funny thing was, John considered as he lay with two pillows under his head, Sherlock was bloody right.

Mycroft though, surprisingly, was a million times worse than Sherlock. He would attempt, and nine times out of ten succeed, to dom the Dominate doctors. They would be scared shitless from some threat from Mycroft had just whispered in their ear that they would come in with shaky hands and tell John they were resigning.

After both Sherlock and Mycroft got ahold of one Dom, Dr. Lemon, he actually ran out of the building shouting he loved his wife and could satisfy her better than someone named Julie Marconi ever could. It was at that point John used the phone in his room to call Greg. The DI arrived twenty minutes later and did something John never thought possible; he made Mycroft submit.

Mycroft, who was just slightly taller than his lover, cast his eyes down and away when Greg drug him off into a corner. Greg put his hand on the back of Mycroft’s neck and proceeded to read the other man the riot act. Soon, the eldest Dom (by only seven months Greg had told John when Sherlock called him a cougar for dating Mycroft) got his hands on Sherlock and forced the young Dominate to go wait in the car.

After about another hour, Greg came into John’s room, changing his look from ‘getting shit done’ to sympathetic as he took in John’s exhausted form. “How ya feelin,’ lad?” he said, going around to collect any personal items Jim and Molly left from their multiple visits.

“Better, I guess,” John tried not to groan.

“That’s good,” Greg nodded, then stopped moving around the room to get a good look at John. “We’re going to find a private physician to come check on you at Baker Street. Do you think you’ll be fine if you do the rest of your recuperating at home with Sherlock? If not, I can pull some strings and-”

“I’d like to go home, please,” John found himself saying in a strong voice, the ‘please’ not even an afterthought.

Greg smiled in relief and nodded sharply. “Alright then. I’ve already signed all the paper work to have you released back in to the Holmes’ custody, so now we just need to get you into the car without aggravating your shoulder or hands.”

“Can’t be too hard, right?” John forced a laugh as he lifted himself up with his stomach muscles. “I only broke every bone in both hands and had a bullet go all the way through my shoulder, eh?”

“Exactly. And ran a 40 degree temp for three days straight,” Greg laughed as well, rushing to help John slide his legs over the side of the bed. “I don’t know what you’re complaining about, honestly. It’s not like you fell into the icy Thames or anything.”

For some reason, John burst into a fit of giggles at Greg’s words. The severity of the situations he’d been in was outweighed by their ridiculousness. “Ow, ow, oh shit,” John wheezed, but continued to giggle as he clutched his aching shoulder with his broken hands.

“Sorry,” Greg said, putting both hands on John’s sides to brace the Sub as he stood. “Do you wanna change into some fresh clothes, or wait until we get you home?”

John looked down at the sweat soaked white undershirt and gray cotton shorts Sherlock brought for him a couple days ago. They looked disgusting and smelled like anesthetic, sweat, and Sherlock’s cologne. Then, he looked down at the two large purple casts on his hands and the white bandages peeking out under his shirt collar. _God, it’ll take an hour to change into new clothes._ “Let’s just get out of here.”

“Alright, but you’re not sitting next to me on the ride home,” Greg said, crinkling his nose.

“Fuck off,” John growled with absolutely zero venom.

Greg pinched just under John’s ear with a laugh, then moved his hand to rest just at the base of the Sub’s neck. “Come on, I think we’ve lucked out with spontaneously checking you out of hospital. The vultures won’t be waiting outside with their bloody cameras.”

Some of the doctors smiled at John and waved goodbye, while others looked so relieved they might cry. The heavy, leading hand on his neck reassured John that nothing was going to happen that wasn’t supposed to. Even though John didn’t have the use of his hands, he was safe.

The cold air felt refreshing as it hit his face, his body craving the fresh air after almost two weeks in that stuffy hospital room. A familiar black car was waiting for them in the pick-up zone. John moved as fast as Greg would let him, but finally they made it inside the car where two hands were waiting to tug him inside.

“Sherlock, gentle!” Greg reprimanded the Dom as John was basically ripped from his hands.

John let out a ridiculously embarrassing squeak, but settled immediately when his nose was pressed into the comforting scent of cinnamon and coconuts. His legs straddled Sherlock’s, the warmth coming from the man’s chest and groin scorching John’s whole body. The contact only lasted for a moment though, as two other hands grabbed his sides and pulled John to sit in his rightful place; in between Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes.  

“Are you alright, John?” Mycroft asked, leaning forward and gently placing his long graceful fingers over the gauze and tape on John’s shoulder. “Sherlock,” he glared at his younger brother, “you can’t just throw him around like that. Use that underdeveloped brain of yours for once.”

“I’m fine,” John said quickly, before Sherlock could take the bait and he’d have to listen to the brothers bicker back and forth until they got home. “Really,” he confirmed, when Sherlock’s eyes showed concern. “Let’s just go home, yeah?”

Devon, who was turned around in the driver’s seat, smiled at John and nodded. “Good to have you back, Mr. Watson.” The butler/cook/driver/everything else the Holmeses could ever need, and not to mention a friend, turned around, raised the window separating the front seats from the back, and started the car. _Home._

John closed his eyes and let his head fall back onto the head rest.

.oOo.

Sherlock watched as John’s eyes closed and sleep took him. It was quite intriguing, and somewhat amusing, to watch his Sub’s attempts to stay awake. His eyes would shut, then snap open, then slowly drift back down until finally, they stayed closed.

Gently, Sherlock pulled John a little closer when he was sure the boy was asleep. “Sherlock,” Greg started, but Sherlock cut him off.

“I know how to take care of my Sub,” Sherlock whispered, not wanting to wake John. John needed sleep; sleep, fluids, and his medication to fight the waning infection he’d picked up from Addison’s place, and his Dom. He knew what John needed and he wasn’t going to let his brother and-

“Sherlock!” Mycroft snapped, making John stir slightly. “You and I are both new to having a Sub and even though John is now willing to stay with us, it is going to take a lot more than just cuddles-” the word was said with a face akin to biting a lemon “-to keep John healthy and in the right state of mind. Greg, as distasteful as it sounds to you, Sherlock, is more knowledgeable in this area and can be of assistance to us all.”

Sherlock huffed and tightened his arm around John. The other Subs, Jim and Molly, seemed to like Greg, but then again they were so touch and kindness starved they would have thought Mycroft was Mother Theresa. John seemed to respond to the DI well enough though.

“Sherlock,” Greg whispered, leaning forward, “I just want to help.”

“Alright,” Sherlock finally said, coming to a decision. “But, I have the final say.”

“No you do not, Sherlock,” Mycroft said, bluntly. “John Watson is a free Sub now. The paper work’s already been signed and approved. It will be up to you to keep him at Baker Street, though I don’t think you will have much trouble, seeing as he’s already bonded to you.”

“You…you, what? We agreed to wait until he was settled back at Baker Street before you signed the papers! Now he’s…” Sherlock started to panic, and he NEVER panicked! He was a Dom, and Doms do not freak out! But the thought of John being able to leave him and go out into the world alone made Sherlock want to throw up all over his trousers.

Sherlock’s agitation must have been more obvious than he thought, when John started to whimper and stir in his sleep. The boy shifted and wrapped his purple casted hands around Sherlock’s stomach, sending instant calm through the Dom.

 “It was meant to be a birthday present, but seeing as John was unconscious when he turned seventeen a belated gift will have to do.” Mycroft sighed, as if put out by not being able to give John a gift because the Sub almost died. “And Sherlock, for heaven’s sake, do try to keep yourself calm or you’ll give John a panic attack.”

“But I-” Sherlock started, confused by his brother’s words. Now that John was a free man, Sherlock’s actions had no effect on the Sub.

“It’s not the paper work that makes John yours, Sherlock,” Greg piped in kindly. “Why do you think that boy almost died from a fever back at Hospital?”

“Infection, from the incision site on his neck and withdrawals from bliss,” Sherlock said matter-of-factly. It was science, biology, nothing more, nothing less.

“God, you really don’t know, do you?” Greg said, his face growing sympathetic.

Sherlock didn’t answer, he wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he was dying to know what Lestrade was about to say.

“Sherlock, you and John are bonded now. He needs your bliss and you need the chemical he emits when he submits. You two are linked now and when you separate, well…that’s what was happening to John at Hospital.”

“I would have died if Sherlock didn’t find me?” John asked from his place curled up next to Sherlock.

Sherlock glanced down to see John’s eyes half open. The boy wanted to be a part of the conversation, but he was already asleep again.

“Not quite,” Greg answered the question anyway. “But you two need each other more than either of you can comprehend at such young ages.”

“Excuse me,” Sherlock said, insulted. At that same moment, John grunted as if to show his displeasure of what Greg said.

The older Dom just laughed good naturedly. “Forgive me. Just, listen to what I said, yeah? Take care of each other.”

“Of course I will!” Sherlock grumbled, letting his hand rub over John’s forearm. “He’s mine.”

.oOo.  

John slept for another day, except this time it was in a warm, soft, excessively large bed, not a hard hospital gurney. He woke up smelling clean detergent, mild soap, and an odd minty herbal shampoo. With blurry vision, John looked around to find he was in his and Sherlock’s room at 221B. A soft laugh bubbled up from his chest when he realized it was all over.

The Subs at Addison’s were free and Addison himself was captured by IBAD. But Mary and the rest of the rebels, John had no idea what had happened to them. At the end of the day though, John trusted Mycroft and Greg not to hurt the Subs or put them back in a dangerous situation.

John groaned as he sat up, his muscles tired from not doing anything for God knows how long. He reached up to scratch his forehead, but was met with a hard purple cast. “Fuck,” he grunted, recalling just how badly things had escalated at Addison’s place. He’d never broken a bone in his life, not even when his dad got a bit too drunk and didn’t hold back on his punches. Now though, John was sitting in bed with nothing but two purple casts and…“You’re a right arsehole Sherlock Holmes,” John growled, looking down at a matching pair of purple pants.

The fact that his Dom decided to play stylist, didn’t stop John from laughing as he slowly got out of bed, but that also didn’t mean John wasn’t going to punch the twat in the bollocks the first chance he got.

It took John a bit longer than he would have liked put on a gray and purple stripped jumper – _hey, a guy has to look good, right? –_ and gray sweat pants – w _ell, and be comfy, too._ He glanced in the mirror and grimaced at the blackness under his eyes and the chunk of blond hair sticking up on the back of his head. _So much for beauty sleep._

In a rather chipper mood relative to the circumstances, John headed out of the bedroom and into the living room. Expecting to see Mycroft or Sherlock, or at the least Devon or Greg, John was concerned when the flat was completely empty. As quickly as it had come, that good feeling evaporated and dread took over. “Sherlock!?”

John raced into the kitchen, nothing. He ran upstairs to Mycroft’s room, nothing. Panic mounting, John grabbed his coat off the rack in preparation to run down to see if Mrs. Hudson was there. Without putting his shoes on, John opened the door – a none too easy task with two casts for hands – to be hit in the face with a giant silver balloon.

His eyes grew wide and without the help of his hands to break his fall, John tumbled onto the hardwood floor. Instinctually, the Sub did a backwards summersault and came to stand with his hands raised to protect his face.

“Sherlock, you idiot, he’s awake!” Greg said from somewhere behind the happy birthday balloon. “You said he’d be out for another two hours.”

“Did he see the cake?” Sherlock asked from the hallway.

“No, but he knows now. And I hit him in the face with the balloons. Sorry, lad, are you alright?” Greg asked, walking in quickly and setting down a weight that kept the offensive amount of balloons from floating to the ceiling. He walked over, hand outstretched, and cupped John’s cheek to examine the Sub for injury.

“’M fine,” John grumbled, embarrassed at not only freaking out, but falling on his arse hard in front of three Doms. “What are you guys doing?” he asked, trying to get the attention off him. However, the answer had everything to do with John.

“Ja-ohn!” Sherlock whined, yes, sadly, the Dom whined as he entered the flat carrying an obscenely large cake with equally large chocolate shaped flowers and twisty designs. “Why are you out of bed? You’re supposed to be healing so I can set up your birthday surprise!”

“Oh,” was all John could say, a dumb look plastered on his face. “Can I help?” was all he could think to ask, because he’d never had a birthday party. He’d tried to do something special for Harry, Mike, Jim, and Molly on a day they chose as their birthday, as none of them knew the true day they were born. The other kids were too young to reciprocate though, but it didn’t really bother John, at least not often.

“Oh no, sweetheart,” Mrs. Hudson said, following Sherlock inside with a tray of delicious looking sandwiches. “You just sit down before you fall down again.”

Mycroft followed, carrying a small wooden box and a blue bag that said happy birthday in big yellow letters. The Dom stopped in front of John, looking the boy up and down with a disapproving eye. John looked down at the clean but overly casual clothes and his pale bare feet against the wood floor. He put his arms across his chest the best he could, his casts getting in the way.

The Dom’s eyes glanced at the purple casts, a strange look passing over Mycroft’s face, and then he moved aside to let the other guests come in. And come in, they did.

John was attacked, literally attacked, by a little girl, a small boy with black hair and another with brown, and a tall girl with John’s chin. He could barely breath with all the hands and arms wrapped around him. Eventually, the children fell to the floor in a heap of giggles and squeals.

“Hey, hey!” Greg shouted from the other room. “Be careful, you hooligans,” he said, laughing. One by one, little bodies were pulled off of John. The heat and buzzing energy filled the Sub’s nerves with fire, and the joy he felt radiating through his fellow Sub’s was more fulfilling than anything he’d experienced before. “Alright there, John?”

The boy giggled, watching Molly hanging off of Greg’s arm. “Yeah, yes sir,” John amended without thinking. He stood up, most of the pain in his shoulder, neck, and hands going away.

“Alright then, you kids watch some telly while we set up for dinner and cake.” Greg planted a kiss on Molly’s head, a swift playful kick to Jim’s behind, and a winked at John before leaving to break up the arguing Holmes brothers.

John sat next to Harry, with Jim on his other side, and listened to where her and Mike were taken and the cool new Doms that took them in and fed them. Half listening to Harry and half listening to Mrs. Hudson scold the three men who didn’t understand why anyone would want ice cream with chocolate cake.

They ate together; Molly sitting on Greg’s lap while everyone else sat in their own chairs. If John wanted to scoot his chair close enough to Sherlock’s that their shoulders were touching, well that was just alright. No one said anything, especially not the other Subs who even looked a little envious.

The meal was missing something, but John didn’t dare think about it too hard. He wanted to feel Sherlock’s fingers on his lips along with the bread, cheese, and turkey. John’s cheeks started to heat at the memories of Sherlock feeding him, until he felt a steady hand on his knee. “Steady, John,” Sherlock whispered in his ear, the low voice making John want to curl up inside the timbre.

“Time for presents, I think,” Greg said, patting his belly, which protruded slightly farther than normal.

“Presents? Really, I don’t need-”

“Nonsense,” Mrs. Hudson said, pushing a large pile of boxes wrapped in blue paper towards the Sub. “You deserve all of this.”

With wide eyes, John opened box after box of clothes, sweets, and the coolest light up yo-yo John had ever seen. It was amazing and too much at the same time, but with Sherlock’s hand on his neck the whole time, John stayed grounded and thanked everyone multiple times with a big grin on his face.

Finally, when all presents had been opened, Mycroft pushed a manila folder in front of him and Sherlock placed the wooden box down next to him. “I-”

“Open the folder first,” Sherlock said.

“Okay,” John nodded and reached out, using his exposed thumbs to flip the top over. With wide eyes, John tried to read the document out loud, but his voice failed him. _John Hamish Watson, as of December 2015, is here by a free Sub. Witnessed by DI Greg Lestrade and Director of Sub Affairs Kara Smith. Nominated by Mycroft Holmes._ “I’m free…”

“Yes,” Sherlock answered, his voice cracking slightly. John could feel the Dom tensing below him, but didn’t know what to do to comfort him. He was free. Free. John could go anywhere he wanted, do anything he wanted. Except…John didn’t want to go anywhere…why didn’t he want to go anywhere?

“Congratulations, John,” Greg said, smiling. _I should be smiling, right? Yeah, this is a good thing. I’m free. I don’t have to stay at Baker Street._

“Cool!” Jim said, excited, and also smiling. The little Sub had made his way over to sit on Greg’s other knee, his skinny arms wrapped around Molly. _Yeah. Cool. Definitely…Cool._

“John?” Mycroft asked, concerned.

“Thank you!” John blurted out, because that’s what he was supposed to say when someone gave him a gift. _A gift. A good thing. Where am I supposed to go now?_

As if sensing his Sub’s rising anxiety, Sherlock slid a little brass key in front of John. “Open the box now, John. Please.”

“Okay,” John nodded. With shaky hands, John was able to work the lock open and flipped the lid up. “Wh-What’s…”

In the ornately carved wooden box rested something that was older than anything John had ever seen. “It’s the Holmes crest,” Sherlock whispered, apparently his voice wasn’t working well either. A silver chain with a silver pendent sat in the center of a soft plush silk pillow. The circle was hand crafted, with uneven rounded off edges from being hand stamped with a small picture.

It was some sort of bird, John decided, a falcon or hawk maybe, in the center. A small shield could be seen in the background, though the distinguishing lines had started to wear away. It was beautiful, and John could basically see the history in the small silver circle.

“It has been passed down through our family since 1568,” Mycroft explained when Sherlock said nothing. “It was created by a Sub blacksmith, Nathanial Holmes, and given to the Dom he’d fallen in love with, Katherine Hepshire. They ran off together and started anew. With Nathanial’s blacksmithing and Katherine’s seamstress abilities, they were able to build a new prosperous life together.”

“You’re giving this to me?” John asked, confused.

“Yes,” Sherlock whispered, reaching over to grab the chain. John was motionless as Sherlock clasped the chain around the Sub’s neck. The silver was a heavy weight, a delicious, comforting weight on his neck. Ever since the collar was removed, his neck felt cold…unwanted. “If you’ll have it.”

“I do,” John said quickly, surprising himself. Without even realizing it, John placed his hand over the crest hanging down to the middle of his chest. It was his. Sherlock was his. The Holmes…where his. “I can stay? Even if I’m-” _Free._

“What kind of idiotic question is that?!” Sherlock asked, almost angry.

“Sherlock!” Greg and Mycroft snapped at the young Dom. “What Sherlock is trying to say,” Mycroft said, “you are always welcome here.”

“Cool,” John whispered. Without preamble, tears weld up in John’s eyes. His lips trembled and he closed his eyes tightly. When John thought he should just curl into a ball - why, he had no fucking idea why – Sherlock’s arms came around him and pressed his soggy face into the man’s chest.

“You’ll always be mine,” Sherlock whispered in his ear, rocking gently.

They stayed like that for God knows how long; not even Mycroft’s awkward coughing could break the Sub and Dom apart. Finally though, John’s hands started to ache from their position and they let go of each other.

John didn’t say goodbye to the other Subs, he said “see you later, losers!” Earning him a rather hard punch to the arm by Harry and a grin from Jim. Greg gave him a kiss on the top of the head, much to John’s dismay, before taking the teens out of 221B.

“Goodnight, John,” Mycroft said softly. The tall Dom reached forward slowly, unthreateningly, and pulled out the pendant. “You…”the man stopped himself from saying what he wanted, collected himself, then continued. “You are even more stubborn than Sherlock,” he said with a rare smile on his face.

“Not as stubborn as you, though,” John laughed and grinned playfully at the Dom. Mycroft placed the necklace back under John’s shirt and patted the boy on the chest before heading upstairs to bed. “Goodnight!” the Sub shouted obnoxiously.

 Sherlock was still in the kitchen fiddling with something that dealt with dangerous chemicals no doubt. With sleep calling, John went into their bedroom… _as a free man. Ha! Yeah, okay. I can do this. I can be free and stay here with Sherlock. If I want to do it, I’m gonna fucking do it._

If what Greg said was true, then Sherlock needed John just as much as John needed Sherlock. Of course he was listening, John learned long ago his Doms did all their talking about him when they thought he was asleep in the car. But the Sub was still confused. A few things did start to piece together though, such as why Anthea was still with Mycroft. _Maybe she’s bonded to him? That’s why she’s free…maybe?_

His thoughts started to die off into a calming gray color as he stripped and sank comfortably into the bed. John sighed, a long slow exhale that released every bit of tension left in his muscles. Lying on his back with only the purple boxer briefs and a sheet coming up to his belly button, he looked down at his stomach, which was protruding slightly from all the lamb and ice cream he’d eaten. A quick flicker of all the Subs out there who didn’t have any food in their bellies was all it took for the tension to return in John’s shoulders.

“John?” Sherlock asked gently, walking into the bedroom and closing the door. “I thought you were going to take a shower before bed?” The Dom started unbuttoning his black dress shirt, examining John closely.

“I was…but I can barely keep my eyes open, let alone bathe myself,” John said with a lazy smile. It was strange that John was more than half naked, didn’t have the use of either hand, and was completely comfortable under the gaze of his Dom. Comfortable he might be, but a red tint starting from his chest all the way up to his cheeks at the sight of Sherlock stripping down to his pants like it was the most natural thing ever.

“I could have washed you,” Sherlock said sliding in next to John, pulling the covers up to drape over his bony hips. He rolled over on his side, facing John and putting an arm around the boy. “What?”

John paused for a moment, wanting to ask so many questions; about the necklace, about Anthea, about Mary, about his freedom, but what came out was, “When did you know? I mean…” John squirmed in Sherlock’s arms a little from the awkwardness of his question. But he needed to know, because John sure knew when what his own answer would be.

“The moment I saw you,” Sherlock answered immediately.

“Liar,” John laughed, rearranging his grip on Sherlock’s forearm against his chest. “You thought I was your next science experiment when you first saw my raggedy arse sneaking through your house.”

He felt a huff of air against the top of his head, making John smile; though the teenager didn’t know if Sherlock was laughing, or pouting at being called out. “You did smell quite atrocious,” the Dom said, a slight chuckle rumbling through his chest and into John’s back.

“Hey!” John joined in on his laughter, but slowly felt his exhaustion force his muscles to melt back into Sherlock’s warmth.

“When you fell into the river,” Sherlock whispered, squeezing John a bit more tightly The mood completely changed, the atmosphere growing thick with fear, love, and most of all, possessiveness.  

“Sherlock…”

“When I saw your head go under the water, I…my whole body froze. That’s never happened to me before. Fear…my body has never been rendered useless by fear until that day. You had control of my body and mind from that day forward. Something changed in me…like some sort of chemical reaction affecting my entire biology. It’s driving me insane not knowing why, but,” Sherlock pressed his lips to John’s hair and inhaled deeply, “when I hold you…it’s…I can’t explain it. Forgive me.”

“No,” John said quickly, doing his best to roll over so he could look up at Sherlock. The big casts on his hands were wedged between their chests now, rubbing against both their skin to make red marks. “I don’t understand it either, but I think Greg is right.”

Sherlock scoffed and rolled his eyes at that, but John head-butted the Doms chest to make him listen.

“And you’re right too. It’s like some sort of chemical reaction from my bliss and whatever you feel when I submit…Dom bliss, I guess. It’s like we’re linked or something. I don’t know, but you smell so fucking good and when you touch me my whole body relaxes. It’s weird,” John said finally, pressing his nose into Sherlock’s neck.

“I’ll have more blood work done when you are feeling better. I can compare it to the samples I took when we first met to determine what has changed in your biology.” As Sherlock spoke, John drifted in and out of consciousness, knowing there was no stopping his Dom when it came to understanding and science.

“Wait, when did you take my blood?” John mumbled, trying to lift his head again to fix Sherlock with a stern glare. Sherlock put a hand on John’s head though, keeping the Subs head pushed against him. “Twat,” the boy grumbled, but breathed in the slight scent that was Sherlock.

“Yes, yes, now quit posturing and go to sleep. I need to think,” Sherlock whispered, his voice kinder than the words would let on. He rubbed slow circles over John’s back, in which the Sub had no defense against. Slowly, his eyes closed and his breathing evened out. “Good night, John.”

“’Night, Sherlock. L’ve you.”

 “John?” Sherlock asked quietly.

“Hmm?” John responded, half asleep.

“You won’t leave me, right?” John heard the little boy with brown curls ask.

“Never,” John answered, leaning forward and gently kissing Sherlock’s cheek.

“I love you to,” the Dom replied, seemingly satisfied with John’s answer.

John was enveloped in his Dom’s warm embrace and as he was on the very cusp of sleep, a thought dawned on him.With only the warm touch of his Dom and no chemicals forcing his brain to shut down, John fell asleep to what he’d been look for his entire life…true bliss.      

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things:
> 
> 1) I apologize again for all the errors. I really pushed to get this chapter out and did a quick review, but that's it. I'm sending it to TPurr for her amazing beta-ing and will have the edited version up soon.
> 
> 2) You will find out what happens to Mary and the rest of the Rebels in the Epilogue...because this chapter was too fucking long already.


	21. Epilogue - Paradise City

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> PREVIOUSLY ON CHEMICAL REACTIONS: John is given his freedom, but is told him and Sherlock are bonded chemically by bliss. It's all good though because everyone loves each other and we're all happy. See, I told you everyone would be happy in the end!
> 
> Five years after the events of Addison's mansion. And a super duper crossover that I had no idea was going to happen until it just sort of weaseled its way in to my mind and was like...hey, you should totally do this and write 8,600 words because people love it when you ramble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Holy shit guys,
> 
> I want say thank you to every single reader! This series has been so much fun to write. You guys have no idea how much it means to me that you stuck with me through the hiatus and my crazy rambling chapters (and my horrible British lingo-American style). Not beta'd yet, so please forgive the mistakes. 
> 
> I'd love to hear your thoughts, good or bad, now that it's the end. I hope you enjoy the last chapter :)

Epilogue – Paradise City

Five years after the events at Addison’s mansion

 

John sat on a park bench, the cold from the metal seeping into his bum and back. A slight shiver ran through him, but the olive green parka Greg bought him for his birthday last year kept his core warm. If he didn’t spot the Sub he was looking for soon though, John was going to freeze his bollocks off, warm coat or not.

The slight vibration in his pocket, made the young man jump. _Damn it, Sherlock. Can’t you sit still for five minutes?_ John pulled out his mobile and swiped the screen to see the incoming text.

**I told you we wouldn’t spot them in broad daylight –SH**

**I don’t know y u even wanted to come? I told u I could handle bringing them in myself.    – JW**

John grinned when there was no response, but looked up when he felt a fierce aura press into his space. “I am here, John, because these miscreants are dangerous. They are not only thieves, but violent hooligans who-”

“Who steal from people and set houses on fire? Hmm, why does that sound familiar…oh yeah, because that’s how you caught me!” John said, glaring up at his Dom. Sadly, even though John was now an adult by biological standards, he was still a half a head shorter than Sherlock, which meant he would always be looking up to try and intimidate his Dom.

Sherlock huffed, crossing his arms over his chest like a petulant child – a child that John loved dearly of course.

“See, this is why I bring Greg with me on stake outs,” John said, knowing that would get the Dom to change his attitude, or…it could go the other way and make Sherlock drag his Sub back to the car and call the whole thing off on account of snogging and eventual rough ‘I’ll show you who’s boss’ sex. Though John would never admit it, he would be fine with either outcome.

Before Sherlock could rebut though, John saw a crop of bright orange hair flit through the people walking around the park. “There she is!” he said, a bit too loudly. John should have learned by now how to hold in his excitement during these sensitive missions. Luckily, their target didn’t seem to notice John’s outburst and continued weaving in and out of pedestrians. By her swift movements and the slight whoosh of the coats around her, John could tell her hand went in every single pocket she passed. _Pretty damn impressive, kid._

“Come on, Sherlock, let’s follow her. And remember,” he grabbed the man’s coat sleeve, pulling him in close, “no Domming unless one of us is in danger.” The last thing they wanted was to scare off the Subs by controlling them, even if it was for their own good.

“Yes, yes, fine,” Sherlock said flippantly. “She’s getting away.”

The two men walked slowly, Sherlock’s arm intertwined with John’s, as they followed the young thief through the crowd. “How old do you think she is?” John asked, keeping his eye on the small inconspicuous form.

“By her bone structure, height, and taking into account malnourishment I would say twelve, perhaps thirteen. She’s been doing this for a while or has an excellent teacher, as her skills are quite impressive,” Sherlock answered, gripping John’s arm tighter with his own.

“Let’s find out, then.” John thought they were rather sneaky themselves, but when the red head made it to the edge of the park she looked over her shoulder at John and bolted. “Fuck!” John cursed, but didn’t hesitate to slip through Sherlock’s grip and sprint after the Sub. He heard Sherlock growl behind him and John knew the Dom wasn’t happy, but nevertheless he would follow his Sub.

It was an exhausting chase. John, who had put on a good amount of lean muscle and had slightly longer legs than at sixteen, was starting to breath hard as he chased the girl through alleyways and around street corners. She was fast and agile, much like John used to be, and the man knew that particular speed was learned on the streets running from Doms and IBAD. Running for one’s life was much different than running for exercise.  

John was so focused on what was in front of him that he didn’t even realize Sherlock was no longer on his tail until they reached a dead end. When he finally turned the corner around a brick building, he caught the girl in an alley with no escape; all three brick walls too high to scale without a ladder. “I’m not going to hurt you,” John panted, bending over to rest his hands on his knees so he didn’t collapse. _Where are we? We had to’ve run at least a couple of kilometers around London._

The girl turned around to stare John down with bright green eyes. She glared at him with such hatred; such hatred that shouldn’t be possible, especially not for a twelve year old. “I’m not going to hurt you,” John repeated. “My name is John Watson. I’m a Sub too, and I know a safe place with-” John was cut off by something hard hitting him square in the forehead. The oldest Sub stumbled back, bringing his hand up to his head to feel a little bit of blood smearing over his flesh. “Ow!” he said dumbly, looking down to see a sharp rock lying on the ground at his feet.

“Let her go or the next one takes your eye out!” a high-pitched, but rather threatening voice shouted from somewhere above John. Looking up towards the voice, John saw crazy matted blond hair sticking out in all directions and focused blue eyes behind a.. _a fucking slingshot? You’ve got to be kidding me!_

“Hello up there,” John shouted, keeping his voice light, like he wasn’t just hit in the head with a rock by a fucking kid with a sling shot. “That was a pretty good shot,” he said, going with the Greg Lestrade method of using kindness as misdirection. It took John way too long to learn how Greg was able to control every situation without domming anyone. John was hoping in another couple of years he’d learn how to actually disarm people with kindness.

It was different for a Sub though, John had learned and was still learning. Subs were just different; the tone in their voices, their body language, even the pheromones they emitted weren’t…well, dominate. When dominance was used properly, a Dom could have made that kid on the roof feel so safe he would come down off the roof. When dominance was used how most Doms used it, they would scare the Sub so wholly that the kid would either run or be forced to submit.

As a Sub, John didn’t have either of those aforementioned options. So, John donned his kindest smile, lifted his hands in a non-threatening gesture, and ducked his head in a show of equal submission. “My name’s John. What’s yours?”

“Nat, you okay?” the boy, probably 15, asked, not taking his eyes off John. He was American, John realized the second time he heard the kid’s voice. Ever since they started rounding up Subs, John hadn’t come across any foreigners. It wasn’t easy for illegal Subs to cross borders, let alone oceans; unless they were brought over through black market trading. John shivered at the thought.   

“Yes,” she said, her voice much stronger than John would have thought for such a small girl.

John could see this conversation was not heading in any direction that would get him to where he wanted to be, so he changed tactics. “How much do you bank at the park nowadays? I think we got about 50 quid on the weekends, maybe a little less. Well,” John said with a chuckle, “I guess that’s why you lot moved to lootin’ houses, eh? Can’t say I blame you there; gotta eat, right?”

The two teenagers looked at John for a moment, confusion passing over their faces. That’s when John knew he’d slipped under their defenses. “Why have you been following us?” the girl asked. She had relaxed slightly in John’s presence, but her muscles were still taught enough that she could bolt past the man.

“I want to help you-”

 “We don’t w-”

“Yes, yes, I know you don’t want my help,” John said, cutting the boy on the roof off before he could finish. He understood, of course John understood, what it was like to be forced to shut off the need to be taken care of by someone. “I’m not offering to put you on someone’s lap to be hand fed three meals a day.” John didn’t miss the widening of the Subs’ eyes at the thought of being hand fed by a Dom.

“We are not offering charity, but a chance to earn your way off the streets,” a deep voice finished John’s speech from on top of the roof. _Fuckin’ hell, Sherlock. You and your shit timing._

The blond boy on the roof kept his cool surprisingly well considering a tall Dominate had snuck up behind him. “What the fuck!” The young Sub rolled over onto his back, aimed the sling shot right at Sherlock’s face, and let go of the taught band. It was swift and impressive, but Sherlock was also swift and, though John would never tell it to the man’s face, impressive.

From his point of view on the ground, John only saw Sherlock’s hand fly up to his face. The boy look stunned as he lay their motionless below Sherlock. The Dom looked at something in his hand, another rock most likely, with a strange smile on his face. At least Sherlock was amused by the kids and not angry, John considered.

“What’s your friend’s name, sweetie?” John asked the red head, _Nat? Natalie, Natalia, Natasha, or just a nickname?_       The girl kept her eyes on the roof where her friend had started shivering. This was going downhill quick. _Think, John, think._ “Nat,” John said gently, squatting down to eye level with the girl, “you shouldn’t trust me. I can’t ask you to do something that I wouldn’t be able to do either. Trust is something I couldn’t do for a very long time, actually.”

John completely ignored what was happening on the roof. If Sherlock had any sense, he’d avoid domming these kids at all costs.

“All you have is each other, right?” John continued, keeping his focus on the girl. He seemed to have her attention, and hopefully that was all he needed to turn this around. After a moment’s thought, she nodded. “And you have to watch each other’s backs. You’re responsible for each other, all day every day, all night every night…right?”

Nat’s face scrunched up tightly for only a brief moment, but John saw, and even more importantly, he understood. “Kind of exhausting, i’n’it?” he said, sympathetically. When the girl didn’t answer, John took that as a ‘yes.’ “I don’t want to give you guys a Dom. I don’t want to collar you. And I sure as hell don’t want to sell you off for profit.”

“Then what do you want?” she asked, boldly.

“For right now?” John asked the question he was about to answer. “I want you lot off the street so IBAD and the police get off my case about pickpockets and robberies. And…to give you a safe place to stay; at least until we can discuss what it is each of you would like to do with your lives.”

John looked up to the roof where Sherlock and the boy looked like marble statues, much like him and his Dom had looked when they first met in Sherlock’s room. “How does that sound to you up there?”

“W-We should,” the boy said, just loud enough for John to hear. “We should take them to Steve.”

“Alright,” John nodded, happily and stood up to give his haunches a rest. “Why don’t you and Sherlock come down and we’ll go meet your friends? How does that sound?” When both children nodded and the boy slowly stood up, John had to fight the urge to fist pump the air in excitement.

The still unidentified boy and Sherlock disappeared for a minute, then walked around the corner of the building where John and Nat stood waiting. John could tell Sherlock was about to spring if the Sub made a run for it; and John could also tell that the Sub ‘was’ on the edge of making a run for it. This situation was definitely a rock on the verge of rolling off the cliff, but it was all they had to work with right now. Plus, John had been in worse situations when dealing with runaway Subs. At least they were teenagers and not adults. Adults were much harder to sway and some escaped or had to be taken down harder.

“Lead the way,” John said, displaying his trust that he knew _hoped_ the kids wouldn’t run. If it came to that, John was sure Sherlock would Dom them and that would make it one hundred times harder to help them integrate into society again.

As the two teenagers walked in front of them, John pulled out his phone and texted Greg.

**Red and another Sub, 15, r taking us 2 their ‘refuge.’ Will update if bringing in. At least 3 Subs, possibly more. – JW**

**Fantastic. Will have Mary make sure beds r ready and extra meals prepared. How     did Sherlock do? – GL**

**I lost count of how many times he said BORED. But good. I think he connects with them more than he thinks…or admits** **J – JW**

**Good. U 2 B safe. – GL**

**Thanx - JW**

John dropped his phone into his pocket and looked up when they reached an old abandoned restaurant. “Nice,” John said, because there really wasn’t much else to say in a time like this.

“Fuck you,” the boy mumbled. He reached out with a surprisingly well toned arm and yanked the old door open. “Steve!” he shouted.

“Oh great, Nat, why did you have to bring Barton back with you?” a voice, a deeper male voice, groaned from inside. _They have adults with them, then? I guess someone had to teach them how to pickpocket and shoot._

“Shut it, ass!” Barton snapped, going straight into pissy teenager mode and forgetting about the two unknowns with him. “Where’s Steve?”

At that point, John and Sherlock had moved farther into the broken down building. John had to give them credit, the place looked much nicer than any shelter Harry and he built while living on the streets. Mattresses with somewhat clean sheets, blankets, and pillows lay in the far right corner by an old fire fueled stove. Bottles of water, pots, pans, cups, and even a few forks were scattered around the bar in a relatively clean and organized manner. Overall, John was impressed, but a little saddened by how long it actually took them to gather all these items. Now, he was taking them away from what they’d called home for a long while. _To a better place. A better life. That’s where I’m taking them._

“Who’s this?” a young man, maybe a year or two older than John asked, looking up from behind the bar. He assessed John with dark brown eyes. The man was on alert, especially when his eyes moved to the tall Dom standing behind John. Sherlock’s nose was crinkled in distaste as he gazed around the shelter. “A Dom?! Barton, what were you thinking?!”

Quickly, the man who’s hair was darker than Jim’s hopped over the bar and ran over to place himself in between the two younger Subs. “Whoa, hey,” John said quickly, putting his hands up and nudging Sherlock to do the same. The Dom did, albeit, reluctantly. “We’re not here to hurt you. I just want to talk.”

“I’m not talking to you, Sub,” the young man said, eyeing Sherlock suspiciously. “Why did you bring a Dom here, Barton? I knew you were dense but I didn’t think you had a death wish.”

“They wanted to meet Steve,” Barton said. “They have some kind of offer. We were, umm, kind of backed into a corner, and…”

“Who wanted to meet me?” a man a couple years older than John asked, walking into the room with confidence that did not come naturally to a Sub.

“I did,” John answered, stepping forward with an outstretched hand. “John Watson, I work for IBAD as a researcher, recruiter, and help with rehabilitation of Submissive.”

“And?” Steve asked, leaning back against the bar with his hands crossed over his broad chest.

“And, I’m here to offer all of you a warm, safe place to stay and a future that doesn’t end with you lying dead in an alley or on a lab table. Truth is, I need your help. I need more Subs like you who have the strength to live out on the streets and who understand the importance of working together.” _Damn, John, you need to write this shit down. Brilliant, John, fucking brilliant._

“Bull shit!” a small kid, eerily similar to Jim, shouted from over in the corner where he’d built himself a blanket fort.

“Loki,” Steve chastised, “go get the others and tell them we’re going on a little trip.”

“Wait,” John asked, “really?” _It can’t be this easy, can it?_

 “I’ve never seen a Sub do all the talking while a Dom, a pretty powerful one at that, just stands there like a…Submissive. If it’s a ploy, well then, I guess we deserve to be caught, but you seem…different; this seems different. What do you think, Tony?”

“He doesn’t have a collar, so it doesn’t look like the kid’s being controlled. I don’t know, Cap, it’s up to you. This roof is probably going to collapse in the next couple of months though, so I’d prefer not to be here when that happens.”

“Okay,” Steve said, again with so much confidence it made John envious. “Then let’s move out. Lead the way, John.”

And like that, John and Sherlock herded nine Subs from the ages of 10 to 26 into cars. They drove to IBAD in complete silence, save for a few whimpers from the younger kids. Sherlock glared at the blond boy, Barton, for the entire ride as if anticipating the Sub was going to make a break for it.

When they arrived, Greg and Mary were there to meet them. Greg, as always, made the kids feel secure; so much so that a few even gravitated towards the fatherly Dom. “John,” Mary greeted with a smile. Her blonde hair was still short and her blue eyes still as piercing as the day they met, but the intent behind them was much kinder…and happier. “Good to see you back in one piece. Are these the Subs Inspector Lestrade mentioned?”

“Yes,” John answered. “Guys, this is Mary, she’ll show you to your rooms and where to get a nice hot meal. You’ll get cleaned up and then tomorrow or the next day I’ll go over some options and what comes next.”    

“Thank you, John,” Steve said, pulling Loki and Nat close to his side.

“Alright,” Mary said, “let’s get going. I’ll show you to your rooms.” The woman held out her hand for one of the little girls to take, then led the Subs in a straight line into the dorm unit.

“Not too bad, kid,” Greg said when the door closed and it was just the three of them in the hallway. “They seem a bit distant, but I’m sure they’ll come around eventually. Mary’s good with ‘em, especially the young ones.”

“Yeah,” John nodded, feeling that little kernel of guilt he always felt after bringing Subs in like stray dogs. He knew it was for the best and that every Sub he did bring in was much better off now. It didn’t make the thoughts of betrayal go away. “I need to finish some paperwork. I’ll be in my office.”

John left without saying a word to the Doms. He could tell Sherlock wanted to say something, but the Sub removed himself from the situation quickly enough that the other man didn’t have the chance to voice his opinion.

John let himself get lost in his paperwork, forgetting about the familiar look on Barton’s face. He thought he was alone until John felt something press on the back of his neck. The weight wasn’t physical, no, it was something more than that, something he’d only felt a couple times in his life. The little receptor on the Sub’s neck tingled like it was on fire, making John shiver. A knock on the door caused John to practically jump out of his skin. “Come in,” the young man squeaked, the words coming out on instinct alone.

The door opened to reveal a man of average, perhaps slightly less than, height, with a flat smile and finely pressed suit. His brown hair was thinning on top, just above multiple creases on his forehead from many years of either stressful living or too much laughing. He looked…average, to say the least, but the tingles and numbness running through John’s spine spoke of a Dom who rivaled Mycroft in strength.

“Mr. Watson?” the man in the suit said, his voice a tad raspy and tired…and American.

“Yes,” John answered, straightening his back and keeping eye contact. He had no idea who this Dom was, but he’d made it through IBAD security and he didn’t seem dangerous. No matter who he was though, John wasn’t about to show any weakness or act like a push over Sub. There was something about this guy though. “Can I help you with something, Mister…?”

“Coulson, Agent Phil Coulson,” the man said, moving farther into John’s office, his hands by his side in an open posture. He was playing like he had nothing to hide, okay, John could play that game too.

“Agent?” John asked.

“Yes, I work for a Government agency called SHIELD, Submissive, Haven, Integration and Education, Liaison, Division.” The suit, Coulson, rattled off the acronym like it was sketched into his brain.

“SHIELD? Really? How long did it take you lot to come up with that one?”

Coulson tilted his head slightly to the side, considering John in a way that made the Sub want to clam up and wait for his Dom to intervene. Sherlock could take this bastard down in a second, but, come to think of it, John didn’t know why he would want his Dom to take down anyone. John was just…intimidated, for the first time in a very long time.

“W-What can I do for you, Mr-erm-” John corrected himself, “Agent Coulson?”

“I really admire what you and the Holmeses have started here in London. SHIELD has been working on integrating free Subs into the work force in America for a long time. The Sub homeless count has been dramatically reduced and many of these young people have gone on to live productive lives, both in traditional Submissive roles and some…not so traditional roles.”

“I see,” John said thoughtfully. As a kid, John had heard of SHIELD and how they protected New York and possibly even the world from…bad things, John assumed. He never would have dreamed as a kid that a place like SHIELD actually cared about Subs other than the ones who were pleasure slaves for their agents. “You’ll forgive me if I have trouble believing an agency like SHIELD cares about IBAD, let alone rehabilitating Subs.”

“We’ve been flying under the radar for quite some time now, Mr. Watson,” Coulson said. “As I’m sure you’ve witnessed first-hand, most are not excited by the idea of freeing Subs and training them. I’m sure you are also aware of the pros of training a Sub to be a field agent who can not only be trained to resist being Dommed but can also administer their own bliss. We do not want to sell Subs, nor do we want them as pleasure slaves.”

“So then what do you want them for?” John asked, a bit of attitude creeping into his voice. Only after he said the words did he realize it was the same question he’d been asked by every Sub he’d brought in to IBAD. That was a Sub’s biggest fear, John supposed, to be read and used like a newspaper and then thrown out with the morning’s rubbish.

“Ideally, to become agents for SHIELD who protect people around the world. To be trained how to not only take care of themselves, but how to be taken care of by a Dominant. To be able to have better judgment on when bliss is needed and when it is not. To be able to fight off dominate commands when necessary and to know when it is necessary.”

When the Dom was done, John gulped, his throat feeling thick and clogged by his dry tongue. He could almost feel the sweat forming on his brow, silently wishing someone had invented an antiperspirant for the face instead of just armpits. “Oh, um, well…I guess, um,” John stuttered out, in awe of how well his all his core desires were laid out by a Dom he’d never met. “So…why are you here, then…sir?” _Oh my God, I did not just call him ‘sir.’ Fuck, Sherlock where are you? Get me out of here!_

“Coulson?” a familiar voice, a God send, called from the doorway. “Phil Coulson, is that you? Bloody hell, it is you, you old Sod!” Every bit of tension evaporated from the room, as Greg sauntered in and pulled the shorter Dom into an awkward hug. Well, awkward for Coulson, who’s cheeks went a little pink and his body remained stiff; Greg though seemed rather content with holding on to the man.

“Greg,” Coulson said, pulling away and flattening down his black tie. “Fury told me you left the Yard for IBAD. I knew that’s why things were changing here in London. It’s good to see you.”

“It’s good to see you too. But damn, Coulson, you got fucking old,” the Dom laughed and slapped the other on the shoulder.

“Gregory,” a voice chastised from all the way down the hall. Although the sound was far away, John recognized that tone anywhere. He straightened his spine a little in preparation before Mycroft arrived. “I do hope you are not using that kind of language in front of our guest.”

Suddenly, John found himself in a room with three ridiculously powerful Doms. It was as comforting as it was terrifying. John knew if the building was under attack, he would be the safest person on planet Earth; but he also knew his body wasn’t his own right now and could be manipulated any way they wanted without his consent. But the slight warm buzzing he felt in his neck from just the three men’s auras was enough to calm the Sub down enough so his hands stopped shaking.

“Of course not,” Greg kept a dopey grin on his face as he went to put his arm around his lover. Though Mycroft kept his air of authority, he didn’t flinch away from the other Dom’s display of affection. “Just stating a fact.”

“Though I might have a bit less, at least mine’s still the same color as fifteen years ago,” Coulson said, a slight smirk tugging at his lips.

“Oh-ho!” Greg gasped, feigning hurt as he put his hand over his heart. “Ouch. Well, if you had to put up with the Holmeses and this one over here,” he gestured to John, who shrunk a little at the unwanted attention, “you’d be gray too, Coulson.”

“Hmm,” Mycroft hummed thoughtfully, eyeing Greg’s gray, almost silver, hair with a smile. “You’ll be happy to know, Mr. Coulson, the paper work has already been completed for the release of the nine American Subs to SHIELD custody. John, will you please show Agent Coulson to the East Sub Barracks to pick up his charges.”

“What?” John asked, as always, his stubbornness beating out his common sense. Mycroft put up with a lot of John’s cheek and rebellious back talk, but when they were in front of other Doms, the man was much less forgiving.

Mycroft’s head snapped to glare at the young man, a boy in Mycroft’s eyes still. “You heard me, John. Do as I say and show Agent Coulson downstairs,” he said, the power just below his words making John shiver.

_Sherlock. I want Sherlock._ “But…we’re just giving these Subs to, no offense, this agency? No questions? No asking the Subs what they want to do? Obviously they don’t want Doms and I’m pretty sure they aren’t going to go willingly with this guy.”

“I see what you mean about this one,” Coulson said, smirking. The American Dom stared at John for a long moment, then took a deep breath to intervene before Mycroft took John out of the room for a…erm, stern talking to. “I’ve heard a lot about you, John, and I believe it was a bit foolish of me to think I could just come into IBAD and take your Subs away.” _My Subs? Did he say, ‘my Subs?’_ “IBAD isn’t SHIELD and I’m a guest here. Please forgive me, sometimes dampening down my Dominate instincts can be difficult at times, especially with so many Subs in the area.”

“I…uh…erm…” John continued to stutter, wide eyed. A Dom, a strong fucking Dom, just apologized to him, a stupid little Sub with a childish temper.

“John, I believe Agent Coulson’s apology, though quite unnecessary I might add, warrants a response from its recipient,” Mycroft said, his tone unreadable to most, but John knew he’d be receiving a not-so-fun lecture tomorrow from the Dom.

“Oh, yes, erm-” John reached his hand back, scratching just below his hair line where the tiniest of scars could be found from the multiple collars he’d warn in his youth. It was a nervous habit that Sherlock, Mycroft, and even Greg tried to rid him of, but in the most intense situations John’s hand would travel back to his neck. “No worries, um, I mean-no, shit-I mean don’t apologize. It’s just…”

Both Greg and Coulson started laughing at John’s fumbling, and soon took pity on him. “We’re Doms, John,” Greg said kindly. “We understand how protective you are over these Subs. SHIELD is a good organization, one of the best, and Phil here is ‘the’ best at training and rehabilitating Subs.”

“Any questions you have about SHIELD, John,” Coulson said, “I’ll be happy to answer them, so you can decide for yourself if it is the best place for the Subs. Also, I might want to add, Steven the tall blond Sub, he is one of ours. A plant of sorts to watch out for the other Subs until they decide to join SHIELD”

_Wait, what? That’s why he was so willing to go with me. Damn, I had no idea. These SHIELD people are pretty fucking good. We need to find out more about them._

“Well,” John said, unsure if it was okay to take the man up on his offer. That small instinct that was always there, no matter how John tried to deny it, kept telling him to trust the Doms and submit. That’s not what John wanted though and that’s not what he wanted the other Subs to do either. “There’s a café just down the street. They make the best chocolate éclairs in the entire world! We can…um, talk about making IBAD a branch of SHIELD…or-I mean, if you want to.”

All three Doms looked at John like his nose had just disappeared. The silence was broken by Coulson, who buttoned his suit jacket. “If they have a good cup of joe, I’m in.”

“Who?” John asked, cocking his head in confusion.

“Yes,” Coulson smiled like John’s question was funny somehow, “a café sounds like a great place for some negotiations.”

So with a very scary look from Mycroft and a nod from Greg, John took a Dom out for pastries and coffee to discuss business. _Fucking hell yes! Score one for John Watson!_

And that was how IBAD, Internal Behavior Analysis Department, became SWORD, Submissive Watch and Observe Recovery Division. Five éclairs, two macaroons, four cups of tea, and an amazing six cups of coffee later, John was walking shoulder to shoulder with a Dom he’d met only a few hours ago. The man had treated John not like a Sub, but as a business man who had common interests and goals.

John knew he’d failed miserably at keeping his manner professional and adult. It still didn’t seem to matter though, as Coulson – call me Phil, please – answered every last one of John’s questions to the fullest. At the end, John understood why Greg gave Phil and SHIELD the ‘okay.’ From what Phil had told him, SHIELD sounded like what John had envisioned for IBAD when he first started working with Mycroft and Greg.

Now that their two organizations were working together, perhaps IBAD…SWORD, would grow faster and be able to free and train more Subs. John still had his doubts of course. Trust was still something he was working on, especially when it came to Sub affairs, but Phil seemed to genuinely care about the Subs.

**Where r u? – SH**

“Oh, umm, sorry. Sherlock’s freaking out. How long have we been here?” John looked at the clock at the top corner of his mobile and cringed. “Oops,” he laughed nervously.

**The café down the street. U know, the 1 were you ate ur weight in éclairs. Want me to bring some back – JW**

Not two seconds later, John’s mobile rang, displaying a blurry picture of Sherlock. John had taken it when the Dom wasn’t looking; he didn’t dare try to take it with the man’s permission.

“That is a bald faced lie and you know it, John Watson,” the Dom snapped before John could even say ‘hello.’ “Now where are you? Greg said you were…’off being an adult?’ Whatever that means. Now where are you? I’m coming to get you right now.” Sherlock rattled off, not even letting John explain he was only a few minutes away.

“Sherlock, calm down. I’m safe and we’re already headed back to IBAD,” John soothed. He nodded to Phil, who was already putting on his pea coat.

“We?” Sherlock asked, and oh did John know that tone. Sherlock was the most possessive git John had ever met. It wouldn’t do well to tell his Dom that he was out eating pastries and drinking coffee with another Dom, no matter how platonic and business related it may be. “John, tell me who you are with, right now!” Sherlock demanded.

“Damn it, Sherlock, quite your flapping. I’m with an agent from SHIELD-”

“Coulson?” Sherlock asked, suspicion in his voice.

“Yeah,” John answered, confused. “Look, we’re walking in the front door now. I’ll-”

“John!” the voice echoed not only from his phone but from down the hall as well. John hung up his phone and watched as his Dom stalked up to them. In a flash, Sherlock reached out to grab John by the jacket and yank him forward. The Sub stumbled, no match for his Dom’s strength on the best of days, and flew straight into Sherlock’s chest.

“Sherlock?!” John grunted, halfheartedly pushing against the man’s chest. “What’s wrong with you? I was only gone for a couple of hours.” John finally got himself twisted around in Sherlock’s arms so he could see Phil watching them with an amused grin. “Sorry, you’ll have to forgive me Dom,” John apologized, though it was meant more to let Sherlock know how stupid he was being than an actual apology. “He can be a bit clingy,” he laughed, elbowing said Dom in the ribs.

“Not at all,” Phil said, then turned his attention to Sherlock. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you, Sherlock. Greg’s mentioned you a few times and everyone who’s anyone knows about the man who co-invented the Bliss Collars. Impressive work,” he said, genuinely.

“Humph,” Sherlock grunted. John could feel Sherlock stretching his core so he appeared taller than he actually was in order to intimidate the shorter Dom. “I’ve never heard of you, Cameron was it?” he asked, raising his chin in a challenge.

“Coulson, actually, Phil Coulson,” the Dom answered smoothly, unflappable even when he wasn’t on his own turf. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you in person, Sherlock. I apologize, but I am running a bit short on time. John, if you wouldn’t mind having the Subs meet me at the main entrance. I’ll find Mycroft to set up the paper work and a skype conference with Fury to discuss your ideas more in depth.”

“Ideas?” Sherlock asked, glancing at John, then back to Coulson.

“You’ve got quite a Sub there, Sherlock. You should be very proud,” Coulson said with a kind smile towards both men.

“Of course I am,” Sherlock said, offended someone would even insinuate he wasn’t proud of John. He pulled the Sub tighter to his chest to prove as much, but also to ward of any other Dom…or at least that’s what it felt like to John.

Coulson just smiled, indulgently, then turned on his heels and headed down the hall.

“What’s going on with you, Sherlock?” John asked, not really angry but concerned at his Dom’s odd behavior. He squirmed out of Sherlock’s hold, only to have a hand grip his hip tightly and direct him towards the barracks.

“The sooner we get these American’s out of here the better, especially that Paul fellow,” Sherlock grumbled.

“Paul?” John asked. After all these years, John was still trying learn how to speak Sherlock. “You mean Phil? What’s wrong with him? He seemed pretty genuine.”

Sherlock just huffed and tightened his grip on John as they walked down the hall. The Sub was about to ask why Sherlock didn’t like the other Dom, but was soon met by a sight he wasn’t ready to face.

The group of Subs John had convinced to come to IBAD were huddled together in the common room. The younger ones had fear in their eyes, while the older kids and young adults were a mixture of fear, anger, and a few with a lack of emotion that made John’s heart ache. They had already been through so much at such young ages. Now, they would think, right or wrong, that John was betraying them; going back on his word.

John took a deep breath to prepare his ‘everything is going to be okay’ and ‘this is for your own good,’ speech, but was cut off by the oldest Sub.

“They found us, didn’t they?” Steve, the tall blond Sub said. John figured the man was maybe a year or two older than John, but he carried himself with the maturity of a someone three times his age.

“Who?” John asked, wanting to see what the Sub would say.

“SHIELD, we’ve had a couple of run-ins with them already over the past year. We’ve been able to avoid them, but I had no idea they’d actually travel this far to find us.” _Damn this guy’s good. No one had any idea he’s with SHIELD._

“Steve!” the blond boy who shot John with the rock, Clint, growled at the much larger Sub. “I told you this was going to happen! Look at what you did. I told you we couldn’t trust this guy! Now we’re like fish in a barrel for those fucking Doms!” The younger boy moved forward, his shoulders curved forward like he was ready to bulldoze through whoever he had to in order to make it out of IBAD alive and Dom-less.

“Cool it, Clint,” Tony, the scrawny black haired boy said. He looked about as old as John, but was a tad taller and had much less meat on his bones. There was enough strength in the Sub, however, to grab Clint’s arm and pull him back. “Cap’s right, so just chill out for a sec.”

“What do you mean, Tony?” the skinny girl said, Jane…or maybe June, John couldn’t remember.

“I’m fucking tired of running, and if this SHIELD place wants a group of malnourished and uneducated Subs, then…well…” the man looked down, almost guilty at his own words.

They were giving up, John realized. No matter how good of an outcome giving up brought, it still stung like hell. He remembered how hard he’d fought giving up his fight against Sherlock and Mycroft. There were still times during the quiet hours of the night when John would think back and wonder what life would’ve been like if he’d continued to rebel against Doms. Perhaps, John thought, he might have amassed a larger group of Subs like Steve.

“Change,” John said slowly, “isn’t always a bad thing.”

“Yeah,” Nat said with much more sass and fury than a little girl should have. “What do you know? You’re nothing but the Doms’ bitch!”

“Natasha!” Steve and Bruce snapped while Tony laughed and Clint looked proud.

“He is not,” Sherlock said, glaring at the little girl, “my ‘bitch.’”

“What Sherlock is trying to say,” John laughed nervously and stepped in front of his Dom to shield the little Sub, “is that not all Subs have to be, erm…pleasure Subs. Like me, I run the Research labs and Rehabilitation center here at IBAD. I also do field work to help bring in Subs, like you guys.”

Some of the Subs looked skeptical, but the light in a few of their eyes gave John hope. Peer pressure was an asshole, but sometimes it worked out for the best. If Tony and Steve thought going with SHIELD was a good idea, then maybe the others would go along with it until they realized it might not be such a bad idea.

“Alright,” Steve said after a long moment of silence.

“Really?” John asked, his voice squeaking with surprise. “I mean,” he corrected, “you guys will be fine with SHIELD. I’ve already talked with one of their agents to schedule a meeting with the Director. IBAD and SHIELD are going to start working together, so I’ll probably see you lot sooner than you think.” John tried to keep his voice as confident as possible, even though he had no idea what the future held.

He found that confidence was what Doms relied on most in this world. People, especially Subs and youth, accepted something more easily when it was presented with confidence. _Fake it ‘til you make it, John._

“Come on, Clint, Natasha, you guys, let’s just see where this takes us. I’ve watched out for you so far, haven’t I? Well I for one am darn tired of sleeping in abandoned buildings and running from police.”

“Darn tired?” Tony laughed, mocking the older Sub. “But, yeah, okay, whatever you think Cap.”

The rest of the Subs either looked down in submission or nodded their ascent. It took ten minutes for everyone to grab what little belongings they had and what packaged food they’d managed to steal. Then, John led them to the exit where Coulson was waiting for them. All in all, the whole exchange went phenomenally smoother than John would have imagined. _I guess exhaustion will do that to a kid._

“Ah, John, I’ve had words with Mycroft and he is open to discussing combining forces, as well. I’ll set up a date sometime later this month for a meeting.” The Dom smiled politely, his attention first on John, then on the group of young Subs behind John. “Steve Rogers, Anthony Stark, Thorin Odinson, Loki Laufeyson, Clinton Barton, Natasha Romanoff, Jane Foster, Darcy Lewis, and Bruce Banner.” The Dom looked at every single Sub as he said their name. “It’s a pleasure to finally meet all of you. You are very good at avoiding those you do not wish to speak with. I’m quite impressed.”

Clint growled slightly, but every one bowed their head, unable to withstand the strong aura of dominance coming off the agent. Even John lowered his eyes for a moment and tucked his chin to his chest until Sherlock grabbed the back of his Sub’s neck. “You have what you want. Now leave before you overstay your welcome, Agent,” Sherlock said, posturing.

“Yes, of course, thank you for your hospitality,” Coulson said, unflappable against Sherlock’s display of chest beating. “Come, I’ll explain things more once we are on the plane back to New York.” The Dom waited for the Subs to come to him, and when they did he reached out his arm and placed his hand gently on the Sub’s neck who seemed to be freaking out more than the others. Clint flinched at first, but then submitted to the touch with a halfhearted baring of his teeth.       

John watched as one Dom led nine Subs, a few taller than him, out of IBAD. All the Subs looked rather calm. They were in a cloud of bliss, John reasoned based on the slight tingling he could feel in his fingertips. Coulson was strong indeed. It was no wonder SHIELD sent him to fetch rogue Subs if he could calm a whole group by just standing next to them.

John sighed, shoving his hands in his pockets as he watched them turn the corner. It was the unknown, John realized, that made him so uneasy about letting those kids go to America. Mycroft and Greg respected Agent Coulson and it wasn’t necessarily fear he saw in the Subs’ eyes when he told them they were going back home. _Am I putting too much trust in Doms?_

“John,” Sherlock said, his voice close behind him. Then, he felt a welcomed warmth against his back and long arms around his ribs. “Home?”

“Yes, let’s go home,” Johns answered, closing his eyes and relishing the calming vibration around him caused by their bodies touching.

Home was still 221B, which wasn’t so bad save for Mycroft living right down the street. The eldest brother would come over unannounced sometimes, letting himself in and snooping around; for what, John didn’t know, but he had his suspicions it had to do with something between the brothers before John entered the picture.

The place was relatively clean, but it was a full time job picking up after Sherlock and his experiments. John hated cleaning just as much as the next 25 year old bloke. He wasn’t a fan of mold growing on his tea mugs or socks though, so the Sub bit the bullet and scrubbed the place down once or twice a week.

John jumped in the shower and, as always, by the time he the soap was a sudsy lather in his hair, Sherlock stepped inside with him. After the first twenty time, the Sub had learned it was futile to fight as Sherlock grabbed the soap and flannel and scrubbed John’s body down until the Dom was satisfied. It was a soothing ritual now and a comfort to know Sherlock wanted to take the time to rid his Sub from the dirt of the day.

It took another couple of months for John to feel comfortable washing Sherlock’s hair and body in return. Now though, as thoughts of those American Subs ran through John’s mind, the Sub just stood underneath the spray while Sherlock did all the work of rinsing them both off.

John didn’t even realize the water was turned off and Sherlock was pulling him out to be dried by a soft fluffy towel. “Sending the Subs to SHIELD is the best thing for them,” Sherlock said. He ran the towel over John’s hair a tad roughly.

“I know…I mean, I think I know. Agent Coulson seemed nice enough…I just, worry I’m not doing the right thing sometimes.”

Sherlock sighed loudly, then grunted as he lifted a naked John over his shoulder. “Hey!” John squawked, but clung to Sherlock’s naked damp back. The Dom stomped over to the bed and threw John down, making the young man bounce slightly. “Sherlock , what are you-”

“You are an idiot,” Sherlock stated simply, crawling up the bed to bracket John in with his arms and legs.

“Fuck you, arse. Not everyone can build a mind palace.” John pushed half-heartedly at Sherlock’s chest.

Sherlock went on like John hadn’t said anything. “I’m quite fond of you, so I’ve come to tolerate your short coming-”

“Oh, ‘quite fond,’ eh?” John cocked an eyebrow, knowing how much of a massive understatement that was. “Well, I’m quite fond of you getting the hell off me so I can go to sleep.”

Again, Sherlock didn’t hear a word John said and merely kept the Sub in place by his strong dominate presence. “But what I will not tolerate is that slow little brain of yours believing you’ve done something wrong. You are the best person I’ve ever known, John Watson. I am a better person and every Sub you’ve brought in is a better person because of what you’ve done.” Sherlock’s face was so close their noses were touching. His blue-silver eyes bore into John in a way that made the Sub feel more cherished than anything in the entire world.

“Sherlock, I-” John’s words were broken off by Sherlock’s lips pressing against his own. It was a good thing too, as John had no idea what he was going to say to Sherlock’s little speech. His Dom loved him, that much John knew, but Sherlock had trouble expressing it sometimes. Not now though, as he ran his hand down the Sub’s chest all the way down to rest on John’s hip bone.

“That Dom touched your neck,” Sherlock growled into John’s mouth.

“You…you’re jealous of Coulson? Is that why you were acting all…Dommy today?” John asked, laughing.

Sherlock glared at the man below him, his eyes possessive. He ran a hand through John’s wet blond hair slowly. “Did…did you like it?” he asked, his voice soft and uncharacteristically vulnerable.

“Sherlock,” John forced the Dom up and off of him. “Come here,” he said, pulling Sherlock up to the top of the bed and pulling the covers over them both. John positioned Sherlock on his back and then draped himself over the man’s chest, his nose right at the dip in Sherlock’s collar bone. “Do you feel this,” he said, putting his hand over Sherlock’s heart. The slight vibration, almost electric, traveled through John and Sherlock’s body.

“You’re hand?” Sherlock asked, adorably literal as always.

“No, you idiot, I’m trying to be romantic here,” John snorted, cuddling closer to Sherlock’s body heat. “This heart, this body, this soul,” he thumped his hand on Sherlock’s heart with each word, “this Dom, is the only one who I want to listen to. You are the only Dom I’ve ever felt safe with. You are the only Dom….you feel like home, Sherlock. Only you, now and forever…you and me.”

John could feel Sherlock’s warm breath on the top of his head. Slowly, he started to close his eyes when he though Sherlock was falling asleep as well. “Compared to your normal speech patterns that was relatively romantic,” Sherlock said. John was about to smack the man and growl at him for being so freaking frustrating. But then, he felt the Dom’s lips on the top of his head. It was a gentle kiss, but the warmth and love flowing off of Sherlock told John all he needed to know.

“Tit,” John murmured before a giant yawn took over his speech.

“Good night, John.”

“Love you, Sherlock.”

“I love you too." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I know...that just happened. But really, if you've ever looked at my bookmarks you should know I can't 'not' put a little bit of Phil Coulson and Clint Barton in a story. Sorry (not sorry) to those who don't like crossovers.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed the story!
> 
> If you liked what you read, check out my Tumblr page here at [My Tumblr ](http://nightfall24.tumblr.com/) I provide update for each of my stories if you don't feel like subscribing on AO3.


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